A Fragile Thing
by r4ven3
Summary: An AU alternative look at late S09 through to early S10, using the S09 team. I'm just attempting to simplify what became horrifically complicated in canon. This is now a story in 16 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

" _The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them."_

\- Ernest Hemingway.

* * *

Friday afternoon - 16th July:

The worst thing about being a spy is also the best thing. Dealing day by day with people whose job it is to lie for a living can be dangerous, heart-stopping, and often heart-breaking, while at the same time it can be exciting and addictive. Beth isn't even sure how many of her colleagues she trusts, or whether her colleagues feel able to trust her, but there are times when they all have to take that giant leap, and just get on with it.

Take Lucas, for instance. While on an operation with him, she trusts him with her life, but here on the Grid, she is sure he is dodgy as hell. And as if manifesting him from her thoughts, Lucas strides across the Grid and sits – uninvited – on the corner of her desk, a manilla folder in one hand, his expression unreadable.

"I've just had a strange phone call from this woman, and I thought you might like to look into it."

Beth wrinkles her nose in distaste. "So long as it gets me out of this place for a few hours, I'll do almost anything."

"It won't. You can give the deep investigative stuff to Tariq, but a few quick searches should sort it out."

"Why can't you do it," Beth whines, "or better still, Ruth?" She chances a glance across the Grid to where Ruth appears buried beneath folders, pages of A4 paper, two staplers, a pale blue scarf, and a very large pair of head phones.

"I don't want Ruth to know about this," Lucas says quietly, leaning a little closer. "The subject matter is .. sensitive."

"I'm sure Ruth can -"

"It's about Harry. You'd best read it." Lucas places the manilla folder on the desk in front of Beth, and then stands. "Harry is due back on Monday, so this needs to be wrapped up before then."

"Can't you just …?"

"What?" Lucas appears irritated.

"Summarise. I hate reading files." The truth is that Beth was about to head off to visit one of her assets from before she'd left for Africa. She needs to breathe air which hasn't first passed through an air conditioning system. She needs to walk. She needs to mingle with those in the world outside these walls – normal people, who have no awareness of how tenuous life is, people who think about nothing more than what they plan to have for dinner tonight, or whether their kids need new school shoes.

"You know what to do, Beth. Read the contents of the folder, make a list of tasks, and if necessary, delegate some of those tasks to Tariq."

"But leave Ruth out of it."

"Yes. Keep this from Ruth."

"It must be bad, then," she says, seeing her day out slipping from her grasp.

"Potentially it is. It will be your job to see how quickly we can clear Harry's name."

"What if he's not innocent?"

"He is."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Read it and you'll see. Just get it done."

"Before Monday?"

"Yes. Before Monday."

"So … given today is Friday, this means my weekend is -"

"- to be spent here .. at least until Harry is in the clear," and Lucas turns and leaves by the very door through which Beth wishes she could disappear. She looks around the Grid to see very few agents at their desks. Ruth glances up to smile at her and then – thankfully – drops her eyes to her monitor.

* * *

Ruth is only pretending to be busy. Being Friday afternoon, she is filling in time until it's time to go home, or more accurately, she is only waiting to see whether Harry drops in on his way home from the planning conference for section heads. Ruth is sure the five day in-house conference in Canterbury is little more than a perk for management. Surely they could have achieved similar results were they to have met on the sixth floor of Thames House.

It is a week since she has seen Harry, and the time away from him has allowed her to see `them' with fresh eyes. In her private moments she has examined their recent interactions – including his proposal of marriage, which she had met with her usual resistance – and she has concluded that she should no longer resist any advances he makes towards her. She no longer wishes to push him away. To do so only results in confusion and hurt in him, and a continuing deep sadness in herself. It makes no sense to continue punishing him – punishing _them_ – in an effort to honour the deaths of those who have lost their lives while serving their country. Continuing to sacrifice their chance at happiness will never smooth the wrinkles left in the fabric of time by the senseless deaths of their colleagues, and the tragic loss of George. She has lost George, and he has lost Ros, along with so many others, and maybe, just maybe, together they can provide some much needed comfort for one another. Perhaps together they can make sense of the unfathomable.

Sensing someone approaching, Ruth looks up to see Dimitri bearing down on her. She smiles into his eyes. "Hi, stranger," she says.

"Evershed," he says, his usual greeting, "coming to the pub after work?"

"I thought I might … finish up here. It might take me until seven or so."

"You know … when you're on your death bed, no-one'll thank you for having worked until seven each Friday night."

Sometimes Dimitri can be a strange man .. almost as strange as Harry. "I'm sure that's true, Dimitri. I don't work late every Friday night .. just this one."

She watches him as he plants his backside on the corner of her desk, displacing a pile of files. "Sorry," he says, standing to gather together the files which have fallen on the floor. When he's satisfied that they're all in order, he looks at her closely. "Are you expecting Harry to drop in tonight?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Nothing." Dimitri feigns innocence. "I just thought that you might be thinking of … welcoming him home."

Now he's gone too far! "I thought that with Lucas being elsewhere, at least one of us should inform him about the week's happenings."

Dimitri watches her closely, before being distracted by Beth crossing the Grid floor to the Technology Suite. "I wonder what those two are up to," he muses.

Ruth turns to see Beth taking the seat next to Tariq. "Perhaps you should investigate." She grants him an innocent smile. "Then report back to me."

"I just might do that, but first … coffee."

* * *

"I need you to find everything you can about this woman," Beth says, sliding a sheet of paper in front of Tariq, who has been in a world of his own, eyes on his monitors, headphones blocking all extraneous sounds. "Margaret Meredith. All I know is that she used to be married to Neville Corrigan."

Tariq looks up at her, a frown on his face. "Wasn't he something to do with the Chancellor of the Exchequer?"

"He had some kind of shadowy role in that office, yes, but it's his ex-wife who interests me for now."

"What's she done?"

Beth waits, watching Tariq closely. Can she trust him? She barely knows him. Tariq and she rarely have reason to speak. "I shouldn't say anything. It's .. delicate .." she says warily.

"So tell me anyway. Who in this section is more discreet than me?"

Beth knows she should say no more, but once she'd read through the information in the folder given her by Lucas, she was completely drawn in. What better than a juicy mystery with a sexual twist? So with her head bent close to Tariq's, Beth shares the bare bones of the accusations against Harry Pearce.

"I need information on her most of all," Beth continues, putting space between them. "Everything. All the dirt, the grubbier the better. I need to know Margaret Meredith's habits. Who she sees on a regular basis, and who she sleeps with. I also need the CCTV footage from inside the hotel."

Tariq lifts his wide eyes to Beth, and frowns. "What makes you so sure Harry didn't do this?"

"Because if he had, he'd have to have been drugged."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just am. Besides..."

"Besides what?"

Beth breaks eye contact, realising that she's already said too much. She doesn't want Tariq's search to be influenced by prior knowledge. She chances a quick glance at Ruth, who is once more bent over the files on the desk in front of her. "Harry isn't prone to … that kind of thing."

Tariq nods. He's beginning to get the picture.

"Hello, you two," Dimitri says, entering the technology suite. "Who's for the pub?"

"It's not even four o'clock," Beth snaps, "and some of us have work to do."

"Anything interesting?"

" _No_ ," say Beth and Tariq together.

Dimitri's interest is further piqued, but he'll bide his time. Who was it said patience is a virtue? Probably Confucius. Or Shakespeare. Or his mum.

* * *

Ruth soon forgets about what might or might not be happening in the technology suite, as she at last decides that the files she has accessed all week are tidy and in order. On her way back from the registry she passes by the technology suite where Tariq is busy, and doesn't even look up as she passes. Back on the Grid floor, Dimitri is sitting at his desk, reading something on his monitor, while surprisingly, Beth is still at her desk.

"That must be interesting," Ruth says, gliding silently into Beth's work space, and as she does, she notices how quickly Beth minimises her screen.

"It's not really. Lucas threw some extra work my way, and I thought I'd do it now."

"Mmm," Ruth muses, almost certain that Beth is hiding something.

For the next twenty minutes Ruth focuses entirely on reviewing her tasks for the week, while still keeping an eye on Beth. Her patience soon pays off, as Beth eventually heads to the loos, leaving her desk unattended. With the stealth honed from years working at Section D, Ruth glances around her, to see Tariq busy, and Dimitri with his back to her – checking Facebook, no less! Very quickly she heads to Beth's desk, and opening the manilla folder, she speed-reads the top page on which the summary of the phone call has been written in Lucas's sprawling handwriting. When she sees the names, Margaret Meredith and Harry written in the same sentence, it knocks the breath out of her. Is this true? Would Harry do something like this, especially only a few short months after he'd asked her to marry him? Was he that fickle? If so, she'd definitely dodged a bullet.

So why does she feel such devastation? Why does her heart ache so? Because what she has just read is an accusation by Margaret Meredith, and so may be being made for some other purpose. That is how the intelligence community works – lies upon lies, ducking and weaving, smoke and mirrors.

Ruth quickly looks around the Grid, and with no-one watching her, she wakes up Beth's monitor, thankfully not locked, to see an image of a middle-aged woman elegantly outfitted in a dark suit over a lavender shirt. The image appears to have been captured on CCTV, and her head is bent towards a middle-aged man – a balding, fair-haired middle-aged man. She flops back in Beth's chair as though punched.

"You're not supposed to see that," she hears Beth say from behind her. "That's for Tariq's and my eyes only."

Ruth spins around, embarrassed to be caught snooping. "How long have you known about this?" she says accusingly.

Beth sighs, grabbing a chair from the desk next to hers, and pulling it close to the chair in which Ruth sits. "Just a couple of hours," she says quietly. "This is not for your eyes."

"Why not? Don't you think -"

"Because Lucas instructed Tariq and me to wrap this up quickly. He's certain the accusation is false." Despite the bubble of rage inside her, Ruth can detect how carefully Beth is speaking, as if to a small child … or an armed adversary.

Hearing a noise from the doorway to the Grid she looks up to see Harry entering. He is wearing a dark suit with a blue tie, his black coat folded over one arm. She watches while he settles himself behind his desk, glancing at the pile of memos she had left for him. Despite her anger, Ruth feels a familiar tipping in her belly at the sight of him. Harry suddenly looks up, his eyes moving from Ruth's unattended desk to the rest of the Grid, until his gaze settles on her. As he watches her his eyes soften, so she offers him her best death stare.

She can't bear looking at him any longer, so she turns to Beth. "I have to go home," she says. "I can't stay here. Please give Harry my apologies."

As she returns to her desk and quickly tidies her things, locking her computer, and then gathering her coat and bag, she feels Beth's eyes on her. Ruth doesn't know what's so confusing about her leaving. She sees it as her only option.

She hurries towards the door, sensing Harry's eyes on her all the way. "Ruth .." she hears him say as she passes the door to his office, but she can't look at him. It is only once she is in the lift to take her down to the ground floor that Ruth relaxes, surprised to find tears running down her cheeks.

* * *

Beth has witnessed Ruth's sudden departure, and has a kernel of understanding. Beth has only ever been properly in love once in her life, before the object of her love had died horribly in a shoot out between two rival rebel gangs. From the moment she learned of Anders' death, she swore she'd never love another, and she hasn't, but she understands love. She understands how all-consuming love can be, how it swallows a person whole, so that nothing is ever the same again. Beth isn't even sure that Ruth is aware of how completely she loves Harry, but Beth knows … she recognises the signs. Ruth's escaping the Grid and Harry's presence is a sure sign that the older woman is hurt in a way that only those hopelessly in love with another can understand. Ruth sees Harry's actions as a betrayal, and with Ruth being Ruth, she has deemed Harry guilty without trial.

Beth decides to sort this out once and for all … for Ruth's sake. She heads back to the technology suite, where Tariq greets her with a wide grin. "I think I've figured it out," he says.

* * *

"Everything fine here?" Harry asks, as Beth enters his office, the explosive manilla folder in her hands.

"Just tickety-boo," Beth replies. Harry lifts one side of his mouth in a half smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," Beth says carefully, "but Lucas has given me a task which, despite his instructions to the contrary, I have decided to bring to your attention."

Harry waves his hand in the direction of the spare chair opposite his own, and not for the first time, Beth wonders what it is Ruth sees in Harry, although she is in no position to judge another's tastes in men. Anders was a tall, balding Scandinavian with a terrible sense of humour, and a penchant for Country and Western music, which he'd play into the early hours while she tried to sleep. He also had a wife and two children back home in Oslo.

"This is … delicate," Beth says, watching Harry for any sign he might already know what this is about. Harry sits up in his chair and leans forward. "It's personal," she adds, watching Harry.

"To me or you?"

Beth takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid that it's about you."

Harry nods, so Beth drops her eyes to her notes. With her eyes firmly on the notes in front of her, Beth shares how Lucas had approached her earlier that afternoon, having received a phone call from Margaret Meredith. "Margaret Meredith runs a media company." Beth pauses, watching Harry closely, but he shakes his head, momentarily widening his eyes. "Her company makes videos – promotional videos for business and corporations."

"Still not following you, Beth," Harry says, wishing she'd get on with it.

"She says that around a month ago she met you at an inner city hotel, and … you and she took a room in the hotel for the night, where you … you know ..."

"Am I supposed to have slept with this woman?" Harry's voice is cold.

"She claims you did. This photograph," she adds, pushing towards him the image of him and Meredith at the bar, "seems to imply that at least you met her."

Harry stares at the image, and then pushes it back towards Beth. "She asked me for a light. I didn't have one. That doesn't prove I slept with her. I'm not in the habit of sleeping with every woman I meet."

"The problem we have," Beth continues, almost certain that Harry is telling the truth, "is that she even provided some … personal details which are said to … identify you. She rang Lucas today to say that there was … pillow talk, during which you shared with her the details of a group of people who are .. planning a coup."

"A _coup_? On whom?"

"The British government."

"That's utter bullshit!" Harry is staring hard at Beth, but then he sighs, passing his hand across his forehead. "I have no idea who this woman is, and I have even less idea what she was talking about."

"She described you, as well as … other details." Beth pushes a sheet of A4 paper across the desk to Harry, who quickly peruses it. It describes him as having a stocky build, fair hair, greying, balding, gun shot wound to the left shoulder, uncircumcised, a flower-shaped mole on his right testicle, old scar on his left inner thigh.

Once he's read it, he lifts his eyes to Beth. "Everything mentioned here can be found in my personal medical file, which I seem to remember was illegally accessed around seven weeks ago. The whole story is fabrication."

"I was hoping you'd say that." she says, gazing hard at Harry, "but I had to be certain. Her tale of the proposed coup, however, just may be true."

Of course. That's it. How better to get his attention than to accuse him of misconduct? He passes his hand over his face in a gesture of weariness. "Does Ruth know about this?" he asks, his eyes burning into Beth's, who nods.

"She accessed the information while I was .. away from my desk. It's the reason she left in such a hurry." Beth waits, watching while Harry appears to be formulating a plan. "If you hurry you can be at our flat before she arrives home. I'll … not be going home tonight. I'm hoping Dimitri might let me sleep on his sofa."

Harry has barely heard her. He is already on his feet, and is shrugging on his coat. Beth watches while, without saying another word, he disappears through his office door.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday 16th July – early evening:

"Beth? Could you come and check something?" Tariq says, having crept up on Beth, who is arguing with Dimitri about sleeping arrangements.

"Beth's sleeping at mine tonight," Dimitri announces with a leery roll of his eyes.

"Just not _with_ him," Beth says firmly, turning to follow Tariq. She now wishes she'd asked anyone but Dimitri if she could kip on their sofa.

"What is it?" she asks Tariq, once they are in the safety of the technology suite, and away from Dimitri's scrutiny.

"I've found something, and I didn't want Dimitri to overhear .."

"That's wise," Beth replies, taking the seat beside Tariq's chair.

"Firstly, I've checked the CCTV for the hotel Margaret Meredith mentioned, and on the night she mentioned. She was definitely there at the time she claims to have met Harry -"

"Harry admits to being there that night, and to meeting her."

"I know. This image – the one Lucas was sent after the call from Meredith – shows that they met at … eight-forty-seven, but it was a brief meeting, and Harry left only minutes later, at … eight-fifty-eight. Meredith was sitting in the bar at ten-thirty-two with another middle-aged, balding man, and she went upstairs with him."

Beth breathes an audible sigh of relief. She knows Harry was speaking the truth. Harry is clearly in love with Ruth, and would hopefully not betray her. "Go on," she says to Tariq. "Can you identify the man?"

"I can. His name is Trevor Cordeaux, and he's an associate of Margaret Meredith's ex-husband. He's also an associate of at least another sixteen people who have been meeting secretly for the past year and a half. All either own, or have management positions within the private sector. It appears that they are all in the business of producing promotional media for corporations and government." He looks up from his monitor. "I think these eighteen people are the core group who are planning to stage a coup."

"So why accuse Harry?" Beth is still trying to get her head around how a coup might be conducted on the British government.

"So he'd listen, and hopefully look into it."

Beth nods slowly. The idea of this plot is ridiculous, but it's clear that Margaret Meredith is seeking Harry's attention. "I think I owe Harry an apology," she says.

Tariq nods, but his attention is fully on the information in front of him. He needs to know _why_ it is these people want to hijack the government. The _how_ is another question altogether.

* * *

Ruth gets off the bus a stop early. She needs to walk. There is still daylight enough for her to feel safe walking alone, and the cloud cover ensures that the night air is mild. She walks quickly, her eyes on the pavement just ahead of her.

Having thought about Beth's news for most of the bus ride, she is almost sure that Beth was telling the truth, and that in all probability Harry hadn't slept with Margaret Meredith. But if he had, how is that her business, and why is she so angry with him … and with Beth? Since George's death and her resultant loss of contact with Nico, Ruth has wrapped anger around her like a winter coat, flaunting her losses like a hunter proud of his kill. It is as though she is saying: _Who among you has lost more than me?_ She can't keep doing that, and certainly not to Harry. Of all the people in his life, Harry relies on her the most. He needs her, and she is sure he loves her.

So, were he to have slept with that woman, or any woman at all during recent months, can she blame him if he has, and does this give her the right to be hurt and angry? Her sudden departure from the Grid earlier had been because she was embarrassed and upset. Embarrassed that she'd believed her hold on Harry to be so strong that he'd never again want another woman, and that should she need him at some undefined future time he'd be waiting for her, having never looked at another woman with desire in his eyes. In that moment when she'd decided she needed to be a long way from Harry, and from Beth, she had been upset, perhaps even outraged, by the suggestion that he might want a woman other than her. She is shocked by her own arrogance, the belief that her hold over Harry is such that she can control him like a puppet. Had he slept with Margaret Meredith, which she doubts he has, then it would be no less than she deserves.

Ruth has just turned into her own street and is strolling absently towards the building in which she and Beth share a flat when she notices a black Range Rover parked across the street. As she approaches her front door, Harry steps from the vehicle, while Ruth waits for him at the foot of her front steps. For a moment she considers rushing inside, closing the door in Harry's face. In the following moment, it seems clear to her that he has something to say to her, and that it's important enough for him to have sought her out.

As he approaches, Harry hesitates, uncertain about what sort of greeting he will receive. They watch one another, each embarrassed and unsure. "I need to speak with you," he says warily.

In the end, curiosity and compassion win. "Then … you'd best come inside," she says, turning towards her front door.

* * *

"I think I understand how this coup-thing is meant to work," Tariq says, dropping himself into the spare chair beside Beth's desk, the one just vacated by Dimitri, who had announced he was headed to the pub.

"A coup is supposed to be near impossible to stage in a democracy, Tariq," Beth says smoothly, looking up from her searches on the names given her by Tariq earlier in the evening.

"Maybe it's not that kind of coup." Tariq replies quickly. "Maybe it's a moral coup."

"Surely there's no such thing."

"Hear me out. Each of the participants I've identified appear to have something on at least one member of the sitting government, including the PM."

"There's nothing new about that, Tariq. The accused will simply deny the accusations, using the media to plead innocence."

Beth waits, all the time watching Tariq, who squirms just a little under her scrutiny. "What if … the members of this group genuinely have something explosive, even shocking on certain members of government? What if they have proof?"

"Such as?"

"Video footage. Audio feeds. What if they have signed depositions from parents, priests, and representatives of foreign governments?"

"What if the government ensures that the accusers disappear, or meet with untimely accidents?" Beth uses air quotes as she says `accidents'.

Tariq smiles widely, leaning forward in his chair, placing one elbow on a clear space on Beth's desk. "What if this is where _we_ come in? After all, Section D appears to have been deliberately targeted by Margaret Meredith."

Beth sits back in her chair, chewing the end of a pen while thinking. "So … this mob are looking for protection … and they're expecting Mi5 to provide such protection?"

"Why not? All this group have to do is accuse the targeted MPs of terrorism. What form such terrorism takes is immaterial."

"But … Tariq, my sweet innocent boy … it won't work. It can't work."

"Maybe not, but surely it will sow seeds of doubt in the minds of the public, especially if the accusations are serious enough. Things like corruption, or sexual misconduct, or close contacts with well known terrorist groups would be enough to upset Joe Public.."

"You can't just accuse people of random shit, expecting it to stick," Beth says, suddenly exasperated.

"But … what if it's not random shit? What if this group .. what if they know something we don't know?"

Suddenly the lights go on for Beth, and she sits up straight. "I have an idea," she says, smiling at Tariq, "but first, I can hear Dimitri calling me from The George."

"Really? I didn't hear your phone."

Beth rolls her eyes. Tariq has a lot to learn about women's intuition.

* * *

"Would you like a coffee?" Ruth asks, already filling the electric kettle. Having Harry in her flat under these circumstances is difficult for her, and she simply can't look at him.

"Thanks. That would be nice." Harry feels equally as discomfited, but having been a spy for longer, hides it better than Ruth.

Both are silent while Ruth makes them each a mug of coffee, joining Harry at her kitchen table, where she sits across from him, lifting her eyes to his before quickly dropping them to focus on the coffee in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Ruth says at last, "for leaving work the way I did. It must have appeared … strange."

Harry decides to allow Ruth to control the conversation, given she is clearly uneasy in his presence, and that he has some idea why. "I knew nothing of why you left so quickly, until Beth explained .. the situation to me. Was that the reason you took off?"

Ruth nods, only glancing up at him quickly before again dropping her eyes. "I snuck a look at what was on Beth's desk while she was in the loo, and I … jumped to the conclusion that it was all true." She looks up at him again, this time determined to maintain eye contact while he answers. After all, how else will she know if he's being truthful? "Is that woman's accusation true?"

What she sees is shock in Harry's eyes as they momentarily widen. "Of course not, Ruth. Why would I … sleep with a woman I'd only met for a moment?" When Ruth frowns he keeps going, having to dig himself out of a hole of his own making. "I was in that hotel on that evening. I'd had a quick drink with Sandy McAdam from Six, and he had to leave early to meet his wife, so I had another drink, and then this woman came up to me, asking for a light. That was it. I didn't know her name, and I never saw her again."

"But she clearly knew who you were."

"It seems so."

Ruth is sure he is telling the truth, but there is still a habit of doubt which has her focusing on her hands, which are winding one around the other in her lap.

"Ruth," he says at last, his voice soft and honeyed, "I'm 100% certain that I haven't slept with that woman, or any woman in recent history. I need you to know that since … since I knew I cared for you, I haven't wanted anyone else. Why would I?" Ruth lifts her eyes to his and sees a rare tenderness. "I can't just go out there and … have sex with anyone, and certainly not someone I'd only spoken to for less than a minute."

Ruth nods, smiling uncomfortably in his general direction. She just wishes he'd stop talking about having sex, when in all probability she is the reason they haven't yet made it to the bedroom. Despite her wish to keep calm, and for their conversation to be about practical matters, him alluding to what he hadn't done with Margaret Meredith, or anyone else, is making her think lurid thoughts about him, about them, so much so that she can't help the blush which moves from her chest to her neck and throat, and then to her face. Glancing at Harry, and seeing the slightest of smiles softening his mouth, she knows that he knows what she's thinking.

"I suppose … I knew that .. all along," Ruth says carefully, as though choosing each word, one at a time.

"So why did you leave before we'd even spoken?"

She shakes her head. "Habit?"

"You must know that I would never sleep with a woman I'd just met. I don't do that, at least, not any more."

Ruth lifts her eyes to his, to find that this time it is he who is having difficulty maintaining eye contact with her. "I know."

Their conversation has exhausted them both, so while Ruth makes them another cup of coffee, Harry watches her from the table, marvelling at how confidently she moves through her own space, surrounded by her own things. He watches her hips swaying as she walks, and feels a surge of desire, which he indulges in for only a moment before suppressing it. This is not the time, nor is it the place. When she places the fresh coffee in front of him, Harry tries it to find it is too hot to drink.

"Hot?" Ruth asks, glancing across the table.

He nods, wondering whether Ruth is aware of the implications of her question. He really should leave, but he doesn't want to. After a shaky start, he is enjoying her company, even when they simply sit at the table without speaking.

"How was your conference?" Ruth asks at last.

Harry doesn't want to even think about the conference, not when he's alone in Ruth's flat with Ruth, and all indications are that she's no longer angry with him. "As expected, it was five days of hot air and unworkable plans."

"And the company was ..?"

"Almost intolerable. There was a moment when I thought of faking an attack of appendicitis."

"I'm sorry you had to endure that," she says quietly. "It must have been ..."

"It was a waste of time and tax payers' money, but I'm relieved it's over for another year."

"I'm glad you're back."

"So am I."

Harry's gaze is unblinking, his expression unreadable. Ruth doesn't know from where she finds the courage, but from her mouth spills the very thought she's been savouring. "I've … missed you," she says quietly. In the silence which follows she is sure she can hear their hearts beating.

"And you cannot possibly know how much I've missed you," Harry replies, his voice low, the emotion barely disguised.

In the moment that follows, he can see that Ruth is about to say something – perhaps a suggestion, an invitation he'd not be able to refuse. Rather than turning her down, and risking hurting her all over again, he takes the only path open to him. "I have to go, Ruth. I have so much to do back at Thames House."

"You're welcome to stay for dinner, although it won't be much."

"Thank you .. for the coffee, and the offer of dinner. I'm afraid I'll still be at my desk come midnight."

Rather than risk changing his mind, Harry stands, taking his coffee mug to the sink, where he pours the coffee down the sink, rinses it under the tap, and places it on the dish drainer. Ruth leads him to the front door, where just before she unlocks it, she reaches up as if to kiss him on the cheek. This time he risks something he really should allow to pass by him, and he turns towards her so that her lips are placed squarely on his own. The kiss is soft and tender, but over far too soon. They are saying goodbye, but only for now.

"Goodnight, Ruth," he says, stepping through the doorway and into the night.

As he heads towards his car he chances a backwards glance to see Ruth still standing, watching him. He smiles to himself. After months – years – of them getting absolutely nowhere, they are now somewhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday 17th July - afternoon:

Margaret Meredith insists Beth should call her Meg, and since Beth has introduced herself as Helen Watson, they are simply Meg and Helen, two women who could well be mother and daughter, meeting in a Thames-side coffee shop for a latte and a chat.

"Your story intrigued me," Beth begins, noting that Meg watches her like a cat stalking a mouse. Beth needs to be wary of this woman, at least until she knows what it is she's up to.

"I was hoping Harry Pearce would contact me," Meg Meredith says, her voice in the lower registers.

"That's unlikely, given your accusation about him. Besides, he's flat out at the moment."

"I suppose you want to know why I tried to contact him as I did, and then why I rang Thames House." Meg lifts one eyebrow in a query. "Who was the man who answered my call, by the way? He has a lovely voice."

"One of our agents. He's a big bloke. I wouldn't mess with him were I you." Beth is finding the woman irritating. Being Mi5, Beth believes she should be the one in charge of the conversation, but Meg Meredith is doing a fine job of controlling their interaction. "Tell me why you contacted Counter-terrorism."

"Because within our current government are a number of people whom I would class as terrorists ... and more. I thought Counter-terrorism in Mi5 dealt with domestic terrorism, or have I got that wrong?" Again the lifted eyebrow, which is annoying Beth more and more.

"That's what we do, yes. Perhaps you can provide me with a list of names of people whom you believe to be terrorists, and we can look into it on your behalf."

"You're fobbing me off … Helen, or whatever your name is."

"No. We can't just march into Parliament House with all guns blazing … can we? Any investigation we do must be done thoroughly, and with sensitivity."

Meg Meredith gives a throaty laugh. "Sensitivity," she says, "that's an interesting word to describe what it is Mi5 do. As I see it, you're an integral part of the problem."

"So why approach Mi5 in the first place?"

"To speak with Harry Pearce," Meg says firmly.

Beth has had enough of being messed with. Feeling protective towards Harry, she stands, gathering her bag from where she'd slung it over the back of her chair. "Feel free to email me the details," she says, "and my team – Harry Pearce's team – will determine what action, if any, is required."

And she leaves quickly, giving Meg Meredith nothing more, not even a glance. By the time she reaches the Thames embankment, Beth is annoyed with herself for leaving before she'd gleaned more details, but mostly she is fuming over Meredith's game playing, wondering how she could have handled their meeting better. She is sure there is more to this, but she doesn't yet know what, and she's hardly done herself a favour by storming off.

She decides to return to the Grid, hoping Harry will be there. He'll either be at work, or still at the flat with Ruth. As much as she'd like him to be at the flat, she makes a bet with herself that he'll be at work.

And he is, and to her surprise, Ruth's desk is empty.

"Ruth not in today?" she asks innocently, taking the chair Harry indicates. He is dressed in a suit – a different suit from the evening before, which tells her that between leaving Ruth and coming into work, he had gone home.

Harry quickly lifts his eyes to hers, "No. I suggested she take the weekend off."

Beth waits a heartbeat for more, but that is all Harry is giving her. She summarises her meeting with Meg Meredith, and again she waits for Harry's assessment.

"What does your gut tell you?" he asks at last.

"That she was being evasive, and hiding the truth. The whole fifteen minutes I was with her I sensed that she was testing me, waiting for me to tell her more than I wanted to. I felt like I was in a job interview."

Harry's face softens slightly. "That bad?"

"Worse. I'm not sure who the real terrorists are here."

"Has Tariq dug up any more on these people?" Harry asks absently, lifting his eyes to movement on the Grid floor behind Beth.

"I haven't spoken with him since last night, so I can't answer that. Is he in today?"

"Strangely, no."

They are interrupted by the ringing of Harry's mobile. He pats his jacket pockets until he finds his mobile in his inside pocket. Taking it out, he squints to read the name of the caller. The softening of his features is not lost on Beth. She already knows the identity of his caller.

"I need to take this," he says, and with those five words, she is effectively dismissed.

She hurries from the office. She needs to put in a call to Tariq.

* * *

"Ruth," Harry answers, once Beth has slid the office door closed behind her, "is anything wrong?"

"Not wrong exactly. I just had the strangest call, and you'd never guess who from."

"No, I can't guess, Ruth. Perhaps if you tell me -"

"Sam Buxton called me."

Harry is stunned into a rare silence. He'd surmised Sam Buxton would never again want to communicate with anyone remotely connected to Section D. "I find that hard to believe," he says.

"It's true, and she wants to meet me in two hours. It's about this Meredith woman. She wouldn't tell me any more over the phone, but it seems they know one another. When she asked me where would be convenient for us to meet I blurted out the name of that little pub near your house – the one you mentioned a couple of weeks ago."

"The Soldiers' Rest?"

"Yes. I couldn't think of any others."

"I read somewhere that there are close to six thousand hotels in the Greater London area alone, and you could only remember the name of one of them?"

"I no longer frequent hotels, Harry. Besides, I told her that I might ..." He hears her voice fade, which he knows means that she doesn't trust herself to continue with the train of thought.

"What, Ruth?"

"I suggested that I bring you, and she said she'd like that."

He feels a quickening of his heartbeat, along with a sinking in his stomach. It's not a date, he tells himself, although an hour or more spent in Ruth's company is preferable to another hour spent at work.

"So ..." Harry checks his watch, "at five o'clock, we're to meet Sam Buxton at The Soldiers' Rest."

"Yes," Ruth breathes at the other end of the phone. "That's about it."

"I'll pick you up from home at four-thirty." He hears her hesitation, and holds his breath, hoping she's not about to change her mind about this. "Ruth? Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I hope you don't look upon this as a ..."

"A date?"

"Yes, because were I to ask you out, I'd not be wanting a third person to accompany us."

"I'm relieved to hear it," he says, and he can't help smiling.

Maybe it's not a date, but Sam will eventually leave, and then he'll have Ruth to himself. The prospect of time alone with Ruth, even if only for a few minutes, has just made his day.

* * *

"She also told me she's married," Ruth prattles, as Harry concentrates on driving.

"I suppose that happens to the best of us eventually," Harry muses, and Ruth wonders what he means by that.

"Not to me," she says, and then regrets having spoken the thought aloud.

They are stopped at a set of traffic lights, and Ruth can feel Harry's eyes on her. What had made her say that? As well as his eyes, she can almost hear the words he wants to speak, but holds back.

"Sorry," she says quietly, chancing a quick glance at him as the lights turn green.

Harry says nothing more until he parks the Range Rover in the car park behind The Solders' Rest. Ruth wonders has she already ruined everything between them.

"Let's get this meeting over with," is all he says as he walks to the side door of the pub ahead of her. Ruth knows Harry has a soft emotional core which he mostly manages to cover well, and yet with three words spoken without due care, she has clumsily reached into that core and twisted the knife.

"Harry," she says, standing back as he holds open the door for her, "I didn't mean it like that."

"It's all right, Ruth," he says, but she knows it's not all right at all. She enters the pub ahead of him, wishing she had the power to turn back time.

Once they are inside the lounge Ruth sees a woman with long, honey-blond hair approaching. She rushes ahead of Harry to embrace Sam. "It's so good to see you again," she says, pulling away from Sam, to see a thinner-faced, more serious young woman than the Sam she had known back before Danny had died.

"I can hardly believe it's you," Sam says in her distinctive Edinburgh accent, which brings a smile to Ruth's face. "And you've brought Harry, too," Sam adds, stepping past Ruth to reach up and kiss Harry on the cheek. Harry appears only momentarily uncomfortable, grasping her by her forearms to ensure she doesn't follow up with a hug. "I have a table for us," Sam rattles on, "and I've even ordered drinks. I hope you haven't gone teetotal on me."

Their table is in a corner away from other patrons. It is small enough that they can each comfortably sit on one of three sides, with Sam and Harry sitting opposite each other, while Ruth sits between them.

"I remembered you drank whisky, Harry, and I got a bottle of dry white for us, Ruth."

They spend the first twenty minutes reminiscing, followed by a summary of the personnel changes on the Grid. The names of those who died after Danny are not mentioned, and Sam doesn't ask about them. Ruth suspects that Sam already knows the fates of Colin and Zaf and Adam. Mostly it is Ruth and Sam who do the talking, while Harry listens. Ruth can feel his eyes on her, and wonders has Sam noticed.

"I need to tell you about how I met my husband," Sam says at last. "The tale is not terribly romantic, although at the time I thought it was."

"I'll get myself another drink," Harry says, sensing impending girl talk.

"I'll wait until you get back, then," Sam says. "How I met Brett is relevant to the whole story."

So while Harry is getting himself another drink, Sam leans in to Ruth. "You and Harry!" she says, "Who'd have thought?"

"We're close, but not like that," Ruth says quickly.

"Oooh, I beg to differ. All the time we've been talking, Harry was undressing you with his eyes, and I must confess that the man has grown more … _interesting_ with age."

Ruth drops her gaze, embarrassed, knowing that in all probability Sam is right, although the `undressing' part is definitely OTT. She is sure Harry is more discreet than that. Once Harry returns with a fresh drink, Sam launches into her story.

"I first met Brett at a New Years Eve party thrown by one of my colleagues at GCHQ. That was .. oh … six or seven years ago. He gave me his phone number, but I threw it away. At the time I was still cut up over Danny. Then I met him again around a year later, and we dated a few times, but we lost touch when I moved back to London." Ruth notices that Sam is knocking back the wine, while she is sipping it slowly. If she and Harry are to move beyond her earlier gaffe, she needs to remain sober. "I decided I needed to move right away from a government job, so around four years ago I applied for a job as an admin assistant for a woman called Meg Meredith. I believe she contacted the Grid during the last few days, but I'll get back to that. Long story short, Brett is the step son of Meg Meredith, and I eventually met him again, and three years ago we married." Sam drains her glass, and then looks from Ruth to Harry, and then back to Ruth. "That's when things began to get rather weird."

"What kind of weird?" Harry asks, and Ruth can see that he's becoming impatient, which is not unusual for Harry, who can be an impatient man.

"Only a couple of weeks ago I was working back one night, and I noticed that Meg hadn't closed her work station. I woke up her monitor and found a partially written email to one of her associates. Now … I'd been under the impression that Meg coordinates a group of media companies, all of which makes promotional videos for business. That's my husband's job. He's one of those behind the camera. According to her email, the video business is a cover for something altogether different. Summarising, because you really don't want to know all the gory details, Meg's business – called Nexus – is in organising small scale terrorist attacks on British soil."

" _What_?" Harry is leaning forward, his full attention on Sam.

"You heard me, Harry. Meg Meredith – my step-mother-in-law – organises others, all operating under the guise of being legitimate media companies, which they _are_ , to hire people newly arrived in Britain, and needing work visas or residency papers, to conduct terrorist attacks locally."

"And who pays for this?"

Sam looks right at Harry. "As far as I can determine, there is a core group within our government, which includes three members of the JIC, who fund this mechanism, and keep it ticking over. I don't know for sure, but I suspect that most of this is tax payer funded. How better to scare the pants off the citizens, sending them running to their MPs, demanding a solution? Everyone wins. Even you win in the end, Harry."

"Tell that to the families of those killed and maimed in these attacks," Harry says. Ruth is tempted to reach under the table to place a calming hand on his knee, but then she remembers what she'd said in the car on the way to the pub, and her hand remains in her own lap.

"What can we do?" Ruth asks. "This makes it hard to pinpoint the real perpetrators of these attacks."

"Exactly," Sam replies. "I know there's little you can do without threat to your own jobs, but I thought you should know that the chain of command goes wider and deeper than you think."

Ruth has been thinking, her mind winding through the many labyrinthine tunnels which lead away from Sam's tale. "What if," she begins, "Meg Meredith left her computer open on purpose? What if someone in government has sprung her, and she's looking to make you a scapegoat?"

"She's paid very well to do her job," Sam says quickly, "as am I. I had thought of that, which is why I'm telling you. I don't know if there's very much you can do about this, at least through official channels, but you might like to keep your eyes and ears peeled."

"Why do you think Meg targeted Harry that night in the hotel?"

Sam smiles, and with that, she looks so much like the Sam of old. "I have no idea why she chose Harry. I hadn't even known that she knew who he was, but it's clear she's done her homework. Maybe she saw your picture and had the hots for you, Harry."

Sam's wide and open smile does nothing to appease Harry. He gives Sam one of his Harry frowns. "Bloody ridiculous," is all he says.

"And you knew nothing of this prior to reading that email when her system was open?" Ruth asks.

"Not a thing, but then, nor was I looking for it."

"What about your husband?" Harry asks. "Did he know what she did?"

"He's been flat out filming, mostly on the continent, and he hadn't a clue. He can't stand the woman, never could, so in his eyes the news vindicates his view of her."

"He can't be happy that you work for her," Ruth says quietly.

"He's not, but he also works for her – in her legitimate business, as do I – so if we turn our eyes from what is actually going on, then … everything's good, right?"

"What will you do now?" Ruth asks.

"Just keep doing what I normally do, and hope Meg never knows that I know what she's up to."

"And if she does find out?" This from Harry.

"I have no idea what that woman is capable of, and nor do I want to know."


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday 17th July – early evening:

Ruth has decided that Harry should drive her home to her own flat, and he has to go along with that, as much as he'd prefer to have driven them both back to his own house.

"I don't especially want you to rekindle your friendship with Sam," he says, knowing Ruth will object to his high-handedness.

"You can't tell me who I can and can't see, Harry," she replies coldly.

"I know that, and I wouldn't want to. It's just that by speaking with us today, Sam could have put herself in danger's way, and I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

"My only thought is to protect her," Ruth replies quietly.

Harry has no answer to that. How like Ruth to think of others first, and in so doing risk her own safety. He takes a long time to formulate an answer, a reason for his caution, by which time they are only a couple of streets from her flat.

"I've been thinking … since last night … I'd really like it if we could try … you know ..." and he glances at her pleadingly.

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

"I'd like us to try ... being together," he says, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the road, hoping to hide his fear from her, fear that she may not want the same thing he does. How Ruth reacts to his suggestion will determine so much about their future, both at work and away from it.

Ruth doesn't reply until he has parked outside her flat. "I also have been thinking ... along similar lines," she says, "and I think ... I'd like the same thing," she says. "At least .. I think we should try." Having turned off the engine, Harry turns to see her staring through the windscreen. He is hiding his joy rather well. "And were I to see Sam again, and we haven't made any future plans to that end, our contact will be purely for social reasons. I have no wish to further the discussion she began today." It is only then that Ruth turns to face him, her eyes wide, her rising anxiety clear. "I'm sorry about the comment I made earlier about marriage. That was insensitive, and it wasn't meant as a comment on your … proposal of marriage."

"It's all right, Ruth."

"It's not all right. I know I hurt you."

He nods, and turns to look through the window towards her flat. "Are you going to invite me inside?" As soon as the words are spoken he regrets them. How could he have made such a blatant foot-in-mouth? "Sorry. That sounds bad."

Harry is surprised to see that Ruth is smiling. "It's fine," she says. "I know what you mean, and I was going to invite you in anyway … for a meal … if you're game enough to brave my cooking. Beth has a family thing on tonight. She's probably already left."

But Beth hasn't left.

Ruth shows Harry inside, and where he can hang his coat in the front hallway. As they turn into the living room from the hallway, a half clad female figure darts past them, and Harry is sure he hears her say, " _Fuck_. Sorry," but he can't be sure. Just being inside the flat with Ruth has him feeling happy.

* * *

Beth isn't a prude, but in her opinion being seen by her boss in her underwear with her head in the fridge is taking familiarity too far. Still, she's glad Harry and Ruth have dropped in, because she has news.

"Today I discovered something really random," she says, announcing herself just before she enters the living room, this time fully clothed.

Both Ruth and Harry turn her way. "What?" they say together. Beth is relieved that she hasn't interrupted them doing anything of an … adult nature. They'd been standing innocently enough, just inside the doorway to the kitchen, talking quietly.

"It's about Meg Meredith's business. She organises terrorists for a living. Didn't I say she was dodgy?"

"We know," Ruth says, "we just found out too. Who told you?"

"I rang Tariq today, just as he put all the pieces together. We won't be able to do anything about it, you know, not with the probable connections with government."

Both Ruth and Harry nod. She'd been sure Ruth would react with outrage. "We know that, too," Ruth says calmly.

It is then that Beth realises she has stumbled into a sensitive situation – a private moment between her boss and her flatmate. It's clear they are waiting for her to leave. "Well," Beth says, smiling, "I can't hang around here, making small talk. It's my brother's engagement party, and … they're probably waiting for me to turn up so they can crack open the champagne, so … I'm off."

Beth wiggles her fingers in a goodbye, and quickly leaves.

* * *

"Will she be gone for the night?" Harry asks, once the front door closes behind Beth.

"I hope so."

"Not that I was … thinking that we might … you know .. later." Harry stumbles to the end of his sentence, clearly embarrassed. Again.

Ruth is smiling up at him. "You never know," she says. "Stranger things have happened."

This time he sighs audibly. At last he and Ruth appear to be singing from the same song sheet.

It is fragile, this thing which exists between him and Ruth. He has been in love before, but never like this, never with the sense that he is not the one in control, and that one false move, one foolish word spoken by him can rip apart the gossamer threads which hold them together. He had believed marriage would take care of that, binding them together for ever, but even that option is no longer available. He is having to work harder, tread more carefully, and speak with more thought than at any time in his life so far. He happens to believe Ruth is worth the added effort required.

"Can I do anything to help with dinner?" he asks, following Ruth into the kitchen.

"There is. You can prepare the vegetables, while I cook the chicken fillets."

So they stand side by side in the kitchen as they prepare their meal. Occasionally their arms touch, and when Ruth leans across him to grab a sharper knife from the knife block, the subtle tones of her perfume reach his nostrils just as her breast presses against his upper arm, perhaps deliberately. He doesn't care. He is in his own private Paradise, and he'd be happy were the evening to never end. Their conversation lilts and sways between checking with Ruth whether he's cutting the vegetables correctly, and Ruth asking him whether he's managing. Managing? He's ecstatic.

He offers to prepare the sauce. "I'm the king of sauces," he says, smiling down at her.

"That's good, because, no matter how careful I am, my sauces are always lumpy," Ruth replies lightly.

By the time they are ready to eat, they are relaxed around one another. Harry opens one of the bottles of white wine he'd bought at The Soldiers' Rest, pouring wine into two glasses to accompany their meal. He cannot remember being this happy, at least, not since Ruth's return from Cyprus.

* * *

They have just finished eating, and Harry has pushed away his plate, declaring it to be the best meal he's ever had. He tops up their wine, then lifts his glass to Ruth in a toast. "Here's to rounding up the real terrorists," he says, watching her carefully.

"Or to the terrorists bumping off one another," she adds, and he smiles.

"That sounds like a much better plan," he replies.

"Then what will we do with all that spare time?"

Harry sits back in his chair, his glass of wine still in his hand. He looks across the table to where Ruth is watching him, the gentlest of smiles on her lips. "I can think of several things I'd rather be doing than chasing terrorists," he says quietly. He watches Ruth while she blushes, dropping her eyes from his. "Wouldn't you rather be doing that than trying to identify the real terrorists?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

Very slowly, Ruth lifts her eyes to meet his, and then she nods. A green light. Harry feels as though he's been waiting for this his whole life. Never has he waited as long, or as patiently as he has for Ruth, and never has he wanted her as much as he does at this moment. While they hold the gaze of the other, he feels his body responding, and this time he doesn't suppress his ardour. As he watches Ruth while she watches him he is already half hard, and his face and neck are warm, and he is sure she can hear how rapidly his heart beats. He wants to kiss her more than he wants to breathe. He is sure her lips are fuller, and darker than usual.

"Harry?" she says, carefully placing her wine glass on the table.

"I'm hoping you're not asking for more wine," he says, barely able to get the words out, "because .." and Harry hesitates, unsure how Ruth will react to what he is about to say, "because right now all I want is to make love to you."

The ball is in Ruth's court, and Harry barely breathes while he waits for her response.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: M-ish.**_

* * *

Sunday 18th July - afternoon:

Harry has spent the last half hour in a daydream. On the desk in front of him are the last of the reports from the week he'd been in Canterbury, and once they are done he is free to go home. It's just that the past twenty hours have been so life changing that he can barely concentrate on the simplest of tasks, and never before in his long career with the intelligence service has he experienced difficulty when switching from the personal to the professional. Like changing gears on a car, he has always been able to alter his focus in an instant.

Until now.

The evening before has stayed with him, and he can't shake it, although he hasn't tried all that hard to push the memory away. He had waited for what seemed like minutes rather than a handful of seconds for Ruth to respond to his wish that they make love. He had not regretted speaking so bluntly to her. They mostly understood the messages hidden inside the half-spoken sentences they exchange, but just that once, Harry had felt the need to be brutally honest with her. And it had paid off.

Ruth had stood, gliding around the table to his side, where she'd taken his hand in hers, and led him from the kitchen, through the living room to the stairs. Behind them, the dregs of their meal remained on the table, their wine glasses half empty, the light still on. Were Beth to have come home, it would have appeared as though they had simply disappeared, although being the consummate spy she is, she'd have had an inkling of their whereabouts.

They had climbed the stairs together, his hand still in hers. He had stopped on the first landing to kiss her, and she had pressed her body against his as the kiss deepened, and his hands had found her buttocks as he lifted her so that her heat pressed against his own. On the second landing Ruth had been the one to turn to him, sliding her hands around his neck so that he leaned down to place his mouth in that hollow at her throat, sucking and licking her skin, while she wound her fingers through his hair, now longer than it had been in some time. They had staggered through the door to her bedroom, which he had kicked shut behind them, before he stilled her hands as she attempted to pull his shirt from his trousers. Neither had spoken since his declaration of intent in the kitchen.

"Let me," had been all he'd said, as he led her to the bed, laying her on top of the duvet, before slowly removed her clothing, as if unwrapping a precious parcel.

With each fresh expanse of Ruth's flesh he'd leaned down to taste her skin, before removing another layer – her skirt, her bra, and last of all her knickers. As she lay naked before him he had worshipped her with his eyes, his gaze taking in everything, from the rapidly beating pulse in her throat to the thatch of dark pubic hair between her thighs. When his eyes at last met hers he saw in them a loving invitation, so he lay on the bed beside her, and began to touch and taste every inch of her, while her fingers deftly worked to open his shirt buttons, his belt, and then the buttons and zip of his trousers. When only his underwear remained, Ruth had slid her hand beneath the waistband, her fingers gently exploring the length of him before she began a very slow massage. All the while her eyes never left his. When she squeezed his cock in her hand, he drew in a sharp breath.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Almost," he'd replied.

Being inside her for the first time was something he would never forget, no matter what happened to him or to her or to them for the remainder of their lives. Afterwards they'd curled up together under the duvet and slept - exhausted, sated, happy. He thought he'd heard her utter a tired `I love you', but that may have been a trick of his mind – something longed for which he'd created in his imagination. He planned to say it to her when they were no longer naked under the sheets. He would tell her he loved her when they were in the car together, or when the tension of an argument had driven them apart. He would save it for some time when neither were aroused by the tension of lovemaking, when the words were too easily spoken, and not nearly as meaningful as when the strain came from the inevitable struggle to stay together.

He had woken early and left the bed quietly while Ruth slept. In the kitchen he had gathered together the dregs of their meal before washing and drying their dishes, leaving the kitchen as it had been when they'd arrived the night before. Then he'd made himself a cup of tea and drunk it slowly, allowing the memory of the night before to settle so that he could believe it, embrace it, and better still, remember it always. By the time he headed upstairs and once again joined Ruth in bed, it was still dark, so he'd settled beside her, curling an arm around her naked waist, while resting his cheek against her hair.

Around mid morning he had left Ruth sitting at the kitchen table in her dressing gown and slippers, while he went home to shower and change before heading in to work. He had hated leaving her, but he'd suggested he cook dinner for her that evening at his house, and her reply had been a smile followed by a small nod of her head. Harry was just relieved that the night before had not been a one-off.

"Harry?" He is shaken into the present by the voice of Beth. "Are you all right? I thought you'd had a stroke."

"Sorry, I hadn't heard you come in."

"I knocked. For a minute there I was afraid you were dead."

Harry smiles, which brings a look of confusion to Beth's face. "I hadn't expected you to be in today," he says in an attempt to cover his daydreaming. "I've been waiting for Lucas, but he's not even answering his phone."

"We could all die waiting for Lucas to turn up," Beth replies. "He said something about conferring with some group in South London."

"He still needs to keep me informed," Harry replies, not terribly bothered by what Lucas is or isn't doing.

"I was just … wondering .." Beth begins, and Harry waits, hoping she has nothing to say about him and Ruth, "whether you'd heard any more about the mess around Meg Meredith's terrorism business."

Harry shakes his head and smiles at the very idea that this woman – the step-mother-in-law of Sam Buxton – runs a business based on terrorism. He wonders what she puts as her occupation on her passport, or her tax return. Clearly `Procurer of Terrorists' would draw unwanted attention. Beth has been speaking again, but he hasn't heard a word she's said.

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?"

"I'm very well, and thanks for asking, Beth."

* * *

Beth quickly leaves Harry's office, and returns to her desk. She'd meant to ask Harry whether she could return to her flat that night. Since it's Sunday night and she hasn't plans, she thought she might go home, and have an early night. She'd tried ringing Ruth, who hadn't been answering her phone. What was wrong with people? Why have a phone if they didn't answer the damn thing when it rang?

Beth sits at her desk, irritated with the state of her life. Her brother's engagement party had gone well, so well that her mother had drunk far too much, leaving Beth to drive her home and stay with her overnight. _Just in case she throws up in her sleep_ , her brother had said. So Beth had taken her mother home, spending the night on Vomit Watch.

Just as she contemplates heading home to the flat she shares with Ruth, Beth hears Harry calling her name. She turns to see him standing outside his office, his mobile phone to his ear. "What is it?" she asks, and as she does, Harry takes his phone from his ear and presses the screen to end the call.

"Have you tried calling Ruth?" he asks.

She nods, standing to move closer to him, so they don't have to shout. "She hasn't been answering."

"How long have you been trying?" he asks curtly.

"Since around two o'clock."

Harry checks his watch. "That's almost two hours." He looks around the Grid, and seeing Tariq in the technology suite, his eyes moving between two monitors, he quickly heads over there, mumbling something like, "Doesn't that boy have a home to go to?"

Not knowing what else to do, Beth follows him. Clearly Harry is worried, although Beth suspects that Ruth has simply gone out, forgetting to take her phone … which is unlike Ruth, who carries her phone with her always.

"Tariq," Beth hears Harry say, "can you trace Ruth's phone? She's not answering."

Beth stands at a distance, not wanting to be in the way. Harry is clearly worried about Ruth, as she should have been earlier. Tariq nods, opens a new screen on one monitor, and then quickly moves his mouse, clicking on several boxes as they open. "Her phone's in her flat," Tariq answers, before looking up at Harry. "Any reason why you want to trace it?"

"She hasn't answered it in over two hours."

"Maybe she's sleeping," Tariq offers.

"That's hardly likely," Harry adds quietly, "given she slept until ten."

Beth's suspicions are right, and she watches Tariq's face as he glances up at Harry, then quickly drops his eyes back to the screen. "Right," is all he says. "I'll check the CCTV at each end of her street, just in case."

"Maybe she went back to bed," Beth offers.

"That's not like Ruth," Harry replies, and Beth knows he's right.

Just then Harry's mobile phone rings, and he pulls it from his trousers pocket and answers without checking the identity of the caller. "Yes?" he says abruptly.

* * *

"Harry," Lucas says smoothly, his deep voice like molasses, "I'll not keep you long. I have something … someone I'm sure you would like back, that is if the people I had watching Ruth's flat for the past twenty-four hours were telling the truth. I'll tell you where you can find Ruth, but first you have to give me Albany."

He had not expected this. He knows Lucas had not been coping, but this … "You must know that I have no idea where Albany is, or who has it, Lucas."

"I beg to differ. My contacts at Six assure me you're the man to see. A genetic weapon. How twenty-first century. The Russian Mafia are very interested, and are willing to pay in US dollars. I might even consider sharing the spoils with you, but you'll have to cooperate, and fast."

From behind Tariq, Harry is keeping an eye on the CCTV images as his technical officer opens them one by one, saving each image. It appears that Ruth had left her flat – apparently willingly – with Lucas, before being driven away in his car. "As much as I would like to cooperate, as well as be in on the deal, I can't deliver what I have no access to, and have no knowledge of its location."

Lucas doesn't engage him any longer. He quickly gives an address – an industrial area close to the Thames – and then states a time. "Eight-thirty, Harry. Deliver it to me, and if the codes are correct, I'll tell you where Ruth is." And then Lucas ends the call.

"Is that true?" he hears Beth's voice from behind him, so he turns to face her. "Does Lucas want Albany?"

"For Ruth, yes. And we have only a little over four hours."

"I was under the impression it's just a .. legend, something talked about, and feared, but it doesn't exist."

"It exists, all right," Harry says wearily, staring hard at Beth, "but I really have no idea where it is. If I did, I'd hand it over."

"You'd allow it to get into the hands of the Russian Mafia?" Beth sounds incredulous.

"For Ruth's life … for her safety, yes."

"But … isn't that treason?"

Harry scratches his cheek. "I suppose it is, yes."

"And you'd go to gaol, suffer the resultant humiliation which would be heaped upon you … for a woman?" Beth's eyes are wide, her expression accusatory.

"But Ruth isn't just any woman," Harry replies.

"The trail runs cold at the river," they hear Tariq say, and both turn to where he has an image open on his monitor. Harry steps towards Tariq, leaning over his shoulder for a closer look. He sees Ruth being pushed ahead of a tall, bald-headed man. In the background is the river, and tied up to a small jetty is a barge. Harry senses that he's seen that barge before, but in that moment he can't recall where. "Didn't Lucas live on a barge when he first returned to London?" he asks.

Tariq turns towards Harry. "Neither Beth or I were working here when Lucas arrived," he says quietly, and Harry senses that Tariq is treading carefully with him. Harry rubs his forehead with his fingers, leaving his skin white where he'd pressed too hard. "I have an idea," Tariq says carefully, "and I think it just might work. This genetic weapon ..."

"Yes?" Harry says, trying hard to hide how frightened he is.

"The mechanism is in an old model government-issue laptop, isn't it? I've seen images of it."

Harry nods, and smiles, understanding at last what Tariq is suggesting.

* * *

Less than three miles from Thames House, Ruth lies on a bunk. Beneath her she feels the bobbing and lapping of water as it washes against the side of the boat in which she is now being held captive. She is blindfolded, her wrists and ankles tied together, and to the bed. She could call out, but then she'd not be able to hear the conversation between the two Russian men who had brought her here, and are speaking to one another in another cabin along the corridor, their voices hushed but audible. Her Russian is sketchy at best, but she has surmised that they are waiting for instructions from `that English pig'. They have not named the Englishman, but she's betting that they are referring to Lucas, who had delivered her to a meeting place not far from the river.

During a lull in the Russian's conversation she uses mental telepathy to silently send a message to Harry. Her intellect has her believing that such a skill is not even possible, but she has to try. She has nothing else at her disposal. She imagines them together, lying in bed after they'd made love, and in her mind she asks him to find her and rescue her. Over and over in her mind she says the words, until she convinces herself that Harry has received the message.

Once she has thought her message around twenty times, Ruth lies still, and imagines Harry already on his way. Another part of her imagination pushes aside her happy image of Harry, telling her that she will never get out of this boat alive. By the time Harry finds her she will be cold – a lifeless version of the vibrant person she'd once been, the shell of the woman he'd made love to. She doesn't want to die. For the first time since she'd lost George she has something to live for. Despite her determination to be brave, Ruth feels tears escape her blindfold and roll down her cheeks to her ears.


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday 18th July - late afternoon:

It is Beth who takes over the search for Ruth. Harry looks up from his desk in admiration as she works the phones, calling all the agents currently on duty from the section who may be close to where they believe Ruth is being held. She has done all this while he's been trying to work, anything to keep his mind occupied, and to prevent him imagining the worst happening to Ruth. It is early in their search, and they all know that it is in Lucas's best interests to keep her from harm.

"When Tariq has the `weapon' ready, you'll need to check it thoroughly," Beth had told him, although he already knows this first step in his job to deliver the fake weapon to Lucas.

Harry leaves his office, restless and in need of something to do. Slowly, so as to not distract her, he approaches Beth at her desk. He keeps his eyes on her, noticing how her confidence is growing by the minute. She'd make a fine section chief, he thinks. Why hadn't he considered her before this? By the time he reaches her desk, she has ended her call, and she sits back, an expression of satisfaction on her face. "Dimitri is in the area, and he's waiting for Alec and Dale to join him. I suggested they each observe from positions from where they can see both the barge and the approach to the barge."

"They need to stay well away and out of sight," Harry says, keen to get involved, "and they must not approach until the laptop has been handed over." Harry wonders is he the only person who knows how important it will be that his team not charge in like the cavalry to rescue Ruth before the laptop is handed to Lucas.

Beth nods. "I can do this, Harry," she says quietly, "and believe me, London is a much easier canvas on which to work than Africa. Having accurate maps of the streets certainly helps."

He nods, knowing that she's right. "You're doing a fine job," he says quietly, suddenly proud of Beth, although he can hardly claim credit for her skills.

"You're not the only one who needs her back. She's a much better cook than I am, and despite the state of her desk at work, she's tidier than I am around home." Beth smiles, lightening the moment, so that Harry lets out the breath he'd been holding.

"I'll see how Tariq is faring," he says, turning towards the technology suite.

"Nearly there," Tariq says in reply to Harry's enquiry. "All I have to do is to add the codes, and that's the trickiest part."

"What if I send them through to you?" Harry asks, and Tariq nods without looking up.

At last Harry has a job to do, and he can contribute to Ruth's rescue. He turns on his heel and hurries back to his office.

* * *

While Tariq works on fine-tuning the fake weapon, Beth maintains contact with Dimitri, who has found an empty first floor flat across the road from where the barge is moored. Beth lifts her eyes to see Harry again crossing the floor to her desk. In that moment she feels sorry for him. She knows what it's like to lose the one you love, and as much as he sometimes irritates her with his pomposity and his attention to (irrelevant) detail, he's the man Ruth has chosen, and he clearly adores her. She wasn't joking when she'd told him that she wants Ruth back. She has grown fond of her flat mate, and according to Dimitri and Tariq, the section has already had its fair share of tragic losses. Were the section to suffer another loss, it would rock the remainder of the team, and would likely destroy Harry, rendering him unable to work.

"How close is Tariq to having the fake weapon ready?" he asks her, clearly afraid to quiz Tariq for fear he interrupts the young man's concentration.

"Around twenty minutes ago he said he had twenty minutes to go," she replies, smiling up at him with what she hopes is encouragement.

"We're cutting it fine, time wise," Harry says unnecessarily.

"We'll make it, Harry. Besides, it's only a forty minute drive." Harry nods. Beth waits a moment before she continues. She'd been thinking about this for some time. "Harry," she begins, "I think it might be wise were I to accompany you. Maybe I should drive."

"No," he says gruffly, "I need you here. If Lucas sees I have company, the deal will be off, and .." He can't say any more. He can't articulate his fear for Ruth's safety should he veer from the orders Lucas had given him. "You need to sit with Tariq, and keep your comms open. I won't be wearing an earpiece or a microphone. Lucas's orders."

And just as Harry finishes speaking, Tariq crosses the floor from the technology suite, the `weapon' in his hands. "It's ready, but you need to check it before you leave."

* * *

Harry stands outside the address given him by Lucas, his phone to his ear. "I'm not about to enter a bloody big warehouse, Lucas," he says, not bothering to hide his irritation. "You'll have to come outside."

"You can come around the back, then. All I want is Albany, Harry. Every minute you waste with your histrionics is a minute closer to me setting off the explosives which will blow up my boat, along with Ruth."

So, to appease Lucas, Harry heads around the back of the warehouse, where Lucas already stands, dressed in all black, presenting a sobering, funereal image. "I'll just leave it here," Harry says, bending to place the case holding the fake laptop on a flat sheet of rock. "I need to know where Ruth is."

Lucas quickly rattles off the address, which coincidentally is the address where Tariq's search for Ruth went cold. "She's in my old boat – the _Mary Belle._ Ruth is being held by a couple of former Russian wrestling champions, who have been instructed to shoot first, ask questions later. Dimitri and Co wouldn't stand a chance against them." Harry turns, about to leave, when Lucas calls out. "If the codes don't work, Harry, I will detonate the bomb immediately." Lucas takes another mobile phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, holding it up for Harry to see. "There is only one number on the contacts list in this phone, and when I call it … not only will the boat go sky high, but so will Ruth and my two Russian friends." Lucas waits while Harry takes it all in.

Harry turns back to face Lucas, waiting longer than necessary, his own version of theatrics. "Why would I give you something which doesn't work? I'd have to be mad."

Lucas nods, before he calls out to Harry's departing back. "You have twenty-two minutes to get Ruth, and at -" Lucas checks his watch "- eight-fifty-five the boat and everything in it will be no more."

Harry knows he can reach the boat in well under fifteen minutes, but he'll have to hurry. When he reaches his car, he drives off at speed, while calling Dimitri.

"Boss?" Dimitri answers with one word only.

"The exchange has been made. You'll have to act quickly."

"Right you are, but she has two … companions."

"Then take them out."

"Right. Consider it done," Dimitri says quickly before ending the call.

Harry experiences a strange churning in his gut. Something tells him all is not as it seems.

* * *

Ruth has struck up a friendship of necessity with one of the Russians. There is the one with the very deep, gravelly voice who sounds angry and mean, and there is the gentler one. His name is Marat. They speak quietly when the angry man is on the deck, watching for watchers. Marat appears afraid of the angry Russian. "Vasily wants to kill you," he whispers, his eyes on the doorway. "I will not let him. I will kill him first."

Ruth is aware that Marat may be playing with her. It's possible that he has plans of his own which involve kidnapping her, and asking for an exorbitant ransom, or maybe he wants to keep her as a sex slave. Whatever his intention, his willingness to protect her is all Ruth has right now, and so she'd best use it while it is on offer.

Marat has left her cabin, and is speaking in rapid Russian with the angry man. It seems that the angry man has been speaking with Lucas, and the English spy has handed over the weapon, and is on his way to collect her. Ruth closes her eyes and hopes Harry is hurrying. She doesn't trust Lucas, and nor does she trust the two Russian men who are keeping her in this cramped cabin, surrounded by smelly blankets and fishing gear. She hopes that the members of Harry's team don't try to board the barge before the Russians have left. She knows that both of them possess automatic weapons, and they are prepared to use them. She suspects the angry Vasily of being trigger-happy.

The two Russian men have stopped speaking, after which there is a silence of more than a minute, then one of them enters her cabin quietly. She hopes it is Marat. "We go," he says in broken English, rapidly untying the ties around her ankles, and then he roughly removes her blindfold. "We not die. Vasily take walk outside. He piss in river. Come."

And Marat grabs her arm roughly and pulls her from the bunk where she's been lying for the past two hours. She can barely keep up as she is dragged the length of the boat, and up the steps at the back of the boat. Marat lets go of her arm, and she feels the barge bob as he jumps to the tow path from the back end of the barge. Stern, she tells herself. The back end is called the stern.

Then she hears Vasily shouting something in Russian as he thunders heavily along the tow path towards the barge.

* * *

Lucas has checked the codes on Albany, and it all appears as it should. For a moment he wonders where Harry had been keeping it, but that's immaterial now. He checks his watch. It is eight-forty-three, so he takes the phone with the one number on the contacts list, and before he can talk himself out of it, he presses the number and waits. He is sure he hears an explosion in the distance, in the vicinity of the _Mary Belle_. He knows he has broken his promise to Harry, as well as to Vasily and Marat, but in the spy business broken promises are par for the course. Lucas wants Harry to know how it feels to hurt … _really_ hurt. He's unable to throw Harry in a Russian gaol for eight years, so he will place him in a prison of a different kind. It will be a prison of his own regret, and he will share his cell with his endless grief and loss. In Lucas's estimation, Harry deserves it.

* * *

Harry has already seen the flare of light against the backdrop of the twilight sky, darkened by heavy cloud cover. The explosion sends sparks skyward as he pushes his car to its limits through the narrow, riverside streets, taking turns and corners at dangerous speeds. When he eventually reaches the place where Lucas's barge has been moored, members of his team are rushing around calling out to one another. To his mind it is the definition of chaos. He parks the Range Rover on a wide apron of paving between the street and the wall behind which black smoke rises to blend with the cloud cover.

Harry almost falls from his vehicle in an attempt to get to Lucas's boat. The first person to notice him is Alec. "Ruth?" he asks, trying to keep calm, but barely succeeding.

"We don't know yet. It only happened a couple of minutes ago, and we haven't been able to get close." There is another explosion, a smaller one this time, and from the direction of the boat shards of metal fly into the air. "That'll be the engine," Alec says, stopping in his tracks. "We'd best wait until everything lands."

Dimitri and Dale suddenly appear at the top of the steps from the tow path. They both have torn clothing and blackened streaks on their faces. "It's a bloody mess down there," Dimitri says, panting, "and the bomb went off before we had a chance to board." He looks down the street as they hear an ambulance siren in the distance, heading their way.

"Ruth?" Harry asks. "Is she all right?"

Dimitri shakes his head. "It's impossible to tell," he says. "There's a body floating on the river, but it's one of the Russians. So far there's no sign of the other Russian … or Ruth. Sorry."

Harry takes a deep breath. It is then that he decides to search for her himself. She might be lying somewhere taking her last breaths, and if so, he needs to be with her. He hurries to the steps, taking them two at a time in his haste to reach the tow path beside the river, his heart thudding in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday 18th July – early evening:

Harry can't get near the barge. The framework is still burning, and occasional flares send sparks into the air, while the tow path is scattered with debris, much of it still smouldering. He hears the ambulance approaching, while another siren, that of a fire engine, screams as the vehicle wends its way through the streets. He notices the body of the Russian floating face down in the water. A quick glance around him reveals a gaggle of onlookers along the tow path, there to gawp, gathering fodder for a story they can share with their mates at work. One man in particular, a rather large man, is walking unevenly towards the boat. Harry is about to send him away, when something in his expression tells him that this man is involved in this mess.

"Do you know anything about this?" Harry says, enunciating his words slowly and carefully, attempting to hold the man's attention with his eyes. "The woman? Do you know where she is?"

The man is clearly in shock, but he shakes his head. Harry thinks he appears close to tears. "Not know," the man says in heavily accented English. "She not on boat." Again the man shakes his head. "Lucas bad man," he says.

Harry reaches out to touch his arm. "I know he is. He broke a promise .. to you and to me, and to the woman. I need to find her … quickly."

Harry watches closely while the large man looks around him. He appears to be seeing the debris on the tow path for the first time, and again he shakes his head. "Woman not on boat." He looks behind him, and for the first time Harry notices another set of steps which lead upwards in the other direction from the tow path.

Harry quickly turns to take another look at the barge. The flames have died down, and the wooden frame now smoulders. The heat from the barge is still intense, and so none of his team can get near it, although Dimitri, Jeff and Alec are all standing, waiting for something to change. Harry turns around, suddenly frustrated with their lack of action.

"Have any of you seen Ruth?" he asks, his voice louder and angrier than he'd intended.

"We've looked everywhere, Harry," Alec replies calmly. "She's not along the tow path, nor is she on the bank. The only place we haven't looked is inside the boat."

Harry is not satisfied with Alec's assessment, so he turns again, and takes the other set of steps from the tow path, steps which appear to be used infrequently. These steps are cut into the river bank, the soil stabilised by horizontal planks of wood. There is no hand rail or a wall on the river side.

He is half way up the steps when he hears something, a sound from close by, somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Turning from the steps, he sees movement below him, and a flash of something blue beneath a dense bush which juts untidily from of the river bank. He stands very still, staring through the fading light into the shadows beneath the bush. "Ruth?" he says, perhaps too quietly, for fear it won't be her, but a pile of old clothing. "Ruth?" he says again, more loudly this time. He can feel his heart thumping, the blood roaring in his ears.

Then the pile of clothing moves, and he can make out a face. He doesn't allow himself to hope too much. It could well be a rough sleeper settling down for the night. The figure lifts both hands, which appear to be tied together, and he can hear his name being spoken. "Ruth? Is that you?"

"Harry." This time the word is clear, and it is Ruth's voice. He takes a few steps down, and then slides on his backside to the base of the bush. As he settles beside her, she lifts her face to him, and he can see her smile. Never has he been happier to see anyone in his life. He leans over her, and thinks about kissing her, but that will have to wait.

"What are you doing here?" he asks abruptly, and perhaps unwisely.

"I tried to hide, and I fell. I've been here what seems like .. a long time, since just before the explosion."

"Are you injured?" he asks, and she nods. "Tell me where."

"Marat. Where's Marat?"

"The big bloke?"

"Yes. He saved my life. He mustn't be .. treated like a criminal. The other one - Vasily - I had to hide from him."

"It appears that Vasily is dead, Ruth," Harry says before taking out his phone. He hasn't even touched Ruth, but that is because he's afraid he'll hurt her. "Dimitri?" he says quickly. "I've found Ruth. She's by the tow path, under a bush on the river bank on the far side of the barge. When the ambulance arrives, she'll need a stretcher." He listens for a few moments, and then replies. "She's injured, but it doesn't appear to be bad. And Dimitri … the big Russian man wandering around by the barge … his name is Marat, and he saved Ruth's life. Treat him gently. I think he's in shock. He'll require a stretcher also. He may have burns."

Harry quickly ends the call, and turns back to Ruth. "Where does it hurt, Ruth?" he asks, leaning close to her.

* * *

Harry follows the ambulance as it weaves its way through Sunday evening traffic.

"You go," Dimitri had said, pointing him towards his Range Rover. "we have this under control." Harry doubts that, but with Special Branch and a couple of representatives from Mi6 on their way, were he to stay he'd likely be one section head too many.

On the way to St Thomas's Hospital, Harry calls Beth. "Is Ruth all right?" Beth asks, concern in her voice.

"She seems to have a badly sprained ankle from where she fell down the bank of the river, and she hurt both wrists, which were tied too tightly with a cable tie, plus some cuts and bruises from her fall down the river bank. I suspect she was unconscious for a time, and she also appears to be in shock. She's talking about returning to work tomorrow."

"Over my dead body," Beth exclaims. "You might have to take her home to yours," Beth adds carefully. "That way you can lock her inside so she can't get out."

Harry chuckles, more from relief that Ruth is not badly injured. "Look, Beth, I'll try to get in tomorrow, but I'll also have to spend some time with Ruth. If I don't make it into work, will you …?"

"Of course. I'll .. take care of things here. I've quite enjoyed the added responsibility."

"Good. And for the foreseeable future, I'm making you acting Section Chief."

When Beth doesn't immediately reply, Harry wonders has he said the wrong thing. "Thank you, Harry," Beth says at last. "That's a surprise, but a welcome one. I might even enjoy bossing the men around."

Harry knows she is joking about bossing her male colleagues, but even were she serious, he knows he is leaving the section in good hands.

* * *

Sunday 18th July – evening:

Harry waits while farther along the corridor a doctor is examining Ruth. After fifteen minutes or so, a male nurse approaches him. "Are you Harry?" he asks, and when Harry nods, he is led to the cubicle where Ruth is lying on an examination couch, while the doctor greets him with a wide smile.

"I'm Anwar," the doctor says, reaching out to shake Harry's hand. "Ruth tells me you're her other half."

Harry is momentarily shocked. It is unlike Ruth to be so transparent, especially about the two of them. It is clear that Beth knows they are together, which means that the remainder of the team also knows. He is not shy about others knowing about him and Ruth, although the events of the afternoon and evening would indicate that a certain level of discretion would be wise.

"Ruth's ankle is badly sprained, so dancing is off the agenda for a few days," Anwar says, his eyes moving from Harry to Ruth, a wide smile creasing the skin at the corners of his eyes.

"Ruth?" Harry says, ignoring the doctor, who is altogether much too cheerful, and should probably finish high school first before he tries being a doctor.

"Anwar says I need a night in hospital," Ruth says from the bed, where she lies against a couple of pillows, her left ankle strapped, and the wounds on her wrists bandaged. "Please tell him I'm needed at work."

It is only under the bright light of the examination room that Ruth's other wounds become visible – scratches on her hands and knees and calves, and a cut on her forehead. Harry experiences a moment of anger which he rapidly pushes down. "If you need a night in hospital, Ruth, then you'll stay here."

"There are signs of shock, and her experience this evening has been traumatising for her," Anwar adds quietly, addressing Harry only.

"I'm in the room," Ruth says crossly. "I _can_ hear you."

Knowing Ruth as he does, Harry moves to the side of the bed, effectively elbowing Dr Smiles-Too-Much from his position. Harry grasps her hand gently, and reaches down to place a soft kiss on her lips. "I won't sanction your return to work until you're declared fit, Ruth, and right now, you're not fit," he says in his no-nonsense voice.

He should have known that the direct approach wouldn't work on her. Ruth pulls her hand from his, and visibly moves away from him. "I'm fine, Harry."

"Your ankle is swollen. I can see it from here, and I was there, so I know what happened tonight," Harry says, rapidly losing patience with her.

"We'll … give you a moment alone," Anwar says, ushering the nurse out of the cubicle ahead of him. "Josh and I will be back in five," he adds, lifting his hand to display his five fingers, just in case they haven't a grasp of basic number concepts.

Once the two men have disappeared through the gap in the curtains, Ruth struggles to sit up, so Harry leans over her and fluffs the pillows, providing added support for her back. "Whatever happened to serious doctors?" Harry says quietly, his face close to Ruth's.

"I think Anwar is a serious as any other doctor," Ruth replies. "He's just being friendly."

"Too bloody friendly," he says, moving away from the bed so that he can sit in the visitors' chair. He watches Ruth closely, waiting for her outburst. With her good hand, the one with the smaller bandage around her wrist, she is fiddling with the fabric of her skirt, avoiding eye contact.

"I was expecting you to be mad at me," she says at last, lifting her eyes to his.

"Why, Ruth? What reason would I have to be mad at you?"

"Lucas knocked on the door of my flat, and lured me away, and then he … did this."

"Lured? How?"

Again Ruth drops her eyes, while Harry leans forward in the chair. "He said that you had rung him, and he was to take me to you. I immediately thought it sounded .. odd, but I was worried about you, so I went with him. He was in a hurry, and when I wanted to go back for my phone, he wouldn't let me. That was when I knew I was in trouble."

"I'm sorry that your association with me has led to this," Harry says quietly, "but you're still not coming back to work until you're able to walk unaided."

"That's a bit rich, coming from you. What about when Tom Quinn shot you? You were a walking corpse, and still you turned up on the Grid, visibly in pain."

This time Ruth gives him eye contact, and he stares back. "It's not like you to dredge up the past, Ruth."

"And it's not like you to overrule my wishes."

"Isn't it? Then there's a first time for everything. You're not coming in to work until you can walk up and down stairs."

Ruth sighs, slumping against the pillows. "Then, seeing that I have you _and_ my doctor trying to tie me down -"

"It's not just your physical injuries I'm worried about," Harry says gently. "The psychological effects of the kidnapping and being held hostage can take their toll. It can take years to get beyond an ordeal like the one you've had."

"Well, I'm not staying away from work for years."

"Just for a few days, Ruth. You can't be doing your job if you're in pain."

Anwar pokes his head through the curtain, and cheerily says, "Everything sorted in here?"

" _No_ ," say Harry and Ruth together, and Harry adds, "Give us another few minutes."

"I'm not about to win this battle, am I?" Ruth says, folding her hands across her lap.

"I wasn't aware we were battling, Ruth. I'm thinking of you and your recovery, and I'm also thinking of the section. We can cover you for four days."

"Four days? What if I work from home?"

"What if you come back to mine?" Harry says, his jaw as set as Ruth's.

Suddenly the curtain is pulled back, and Anwar and Josh reappear. "Have we reached a consensus?" Anwar asks, grinning at his own attempt at a joke.

"Yes. Ruth is staying in hospital overnight, and I'll pick her up in the morning and take her back to my house."

"I'll stay in hospital overnight only if you take me back to my flat in the morning," Ruth replies belligerently.

Anwar laughs, perhaps self-consciously. "The two of you are in a relationship, are you not?" he asks lightly, and when both Ruth and Harry nod, he adds, "then, how do you ever agree on anything?"

"We agree on the important things," Ruth says, and for the first time since Harry had arrived, she turns to smile at him, and as his eyes soften, he returns her smile.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: This chapter represents the half way point in this fic, so clearly there is a lot more to happen, and not all story lines are tied off. Thanks to those still reviewing this (and the other) Spooks fics.**_

* * *

Monday 19th July – mid morning:

With her night in hospital behind her, Ruth feels rather comfortable stretched out on her sofa with her left leg elevated on a cushion, while Harry is in her kitchen making tea. Suddenly she hears his phone ringing, followed by the low hum of his voice as he speaks to his caller. His working day never ends, no matter where he is.

Harry returns to the living room with a tray, placing it on the coffee table, before he pours tea for them both. "Is something wrong?" Ruth enquires, her eyes following him.

Harry lifts his eyes to hers and then quickly drops them. "That was Beth. A body has been found in Harlow Town Park. The description fits Lucas North. He died from a bullet wound to the back of the head."

Ruth says nothing at first, her initial reaction being a sense of deep loss for another potentially fine comrade. "That's hardly unexpected," she says at last. "It also sounds … like an execution. What about the laptop?"

"No sign of it. His vehicle is missing, as is his wallet and passport. The body was dressed in black trousers, shirt and jacket, which was what he was wearing yesterday."

"That's sad," Ruth says quietly. "Lucas was such a … troubled soul."

Harry nods. How very like Ruth to express compassion towards the man who had kidnapped her, and left her in the care of two over-sized Russian wrestlers. "Six have taken the body, and are … dealing with it," Harry continues. "There are agents in Six who can identify the body, so … I won't have to face that task. They are searching for the two members of the Russian Mafia who were to have purchased Albany."

"Do you think they'll retaliate once they know the bomb is a fake?" Ruth asks quietly.

"Perhaps they already have."

"And if they haven't?"

Harry's voice is quiet, gentle. "Then it's best Six have decided to follow through. After all, it was through contacts at Vauxhall Cross that Lucas first heard of Albany, and that the Russians were willing to pay top dollar for it. He took it upon himself to deliver because he wanted the spoils to himself."

"He turned rogue," Ruth adds quietly, to herself.

"I suspect you're right, Ruth, and he'd turned rogue some months ago."

"What about Marat?" Ruth asks. "He needs to be protected."

"I didn't ask," Harry replies, "but I'll send Beth a text … once you're settled."

They sip their tea, while Ruth chats quietly about Lucas. Harry contributes little to the conversation, after all, a betrayal is still a betrayal.

"I'm wondering whether there's a safe house which would be suitable for Marat," Ruth says, changing the subject.

"I'll get Beth to ask Tariq to look into that." Harry looks up from his tea, and sees Ruth smiling at him. "What is it?"

"You," she says. "You're delegating."

"I always delegate, Ruth."

"No, you give other people jobs to do, then bully them when they don't do them quite as you'd like."

"That's harsh."

"It's also true. You can sometimes be too hard on members of your team, Harry -"

"Including you?"

"You give away your feelings towards me by listening to me, and allowing me some leeway. You need to treat the rest of your team similarly."

"But I'm not in love with the rest of my team."

His voice is so quiet that Ruth leans forward a little, not sure she'd heard him correctly. "Did you just say what I thought you said?" she asks, equally as quietly.

"Yes. I told you that I love you." Ruth smiles across the coffee table, and then drops her eyes. "Surely that's not a surprise, Ruth."

"Not really, no, but you chose an odd time to tell me."

"I couldn't say it in front of Dr Far Too Happy and his sidekick, Josh, could I?"

"No, but you could have said it once we were in your car."

"It wasn't quite the right time," he says defensively, aware that the moment is fast losing momentum.

"You could have said it when we were in bed together."

"That would have been a cliché, and I didn't want mine to be a clichéd declaration of love."

Ruth is struck mute by her own inability to return the `I love you'. She sits quietly, contemplating the cup of tea between her hands. "How many women have you said it to?" she blurts out at last, not certain she wants to know.

"Not many," Harry replies. "My mother, a girl who lived next door but one to us when I was about fourteen -"

"Did she love you?"

"I never found out. She laughed when I told her, and suggested I come back in around five years. She was nineteen."

"And you must have told your wife."

"Of course, and there were perhaps two others whom I believed I loved at the time, but in retrospect it was ..."

"Lust and nothing more?"

Harry nods, a little embarrassed by his own honesty, as well as his personal failings with women. He is not used to opening up to others in this way. "And you, Ruth .. how may have you loved?"

"Other than my father?"

"Other than your father."

"It's hard to say. There are so many degrees of love. I had a friend in my mid teens called Derek. I loved him, but not in a boyfriend kind of way. Besides, he was gay, although he didn't admit to it until he was twenty. I thought I loved them all at some stage, but after a few days or weeks, it would be clear that it was little more than the fire of first attraction." Ruth carefully places the tea cup on the coffee table before she sits up straight, folding her hands in her lap. "With you it was different. It took some time for me to begin loving you. Even when you took me to dinner, I was awed by you, I admired you, was terribly attracted to you physically, but I don't think it was love … not until I had to leave London. It was only on that morning when we said goodbye that I knew for sure. Parting from you was … painful."

Harry feels a pang of sadness at the memory of that morning almost four years earlier. "And George?"

Ruth's eyes dart up to meet his, and he sees a spark of angry fire in them. "George was different," she says quickly. "He was someone who gave me more than I was able to give him. I will always be indebted to George."

Harry sits back feeling chastised. He knows that it was Ruth who began the discussion, but it was he who took a step too far. "So, do you have everything you need?" he asks, changing the subject.

Ruth quickly looks around her, and then touches each object as she names it. "Sofa, pillows, blanket, books, drinks – tea as well as water – crutches, phone. That's about it."

"I'll send Beth home early, so that she can keep an eye on you -"

"Harry I don't need watching, and as nice as it is that you're keeping me company, I can look after myself. I have a downstairs loo, and for a few days I can sleep on the sofa. I only need to go upstairs to shower, and to change my clothes."

Harry begins to gather the empty tea cups. "I'll make you a fresh pot of tea."

"Then I'll be up and down to the toilet for the rest of the day. Go to work, Harry. I know you want to."

He turns towards her and nods. "Just let me tidy these things first, and then I'll get out of your hair."

Ruth wonders has she said the wrong thing. "You don't _have_ to go," she says once he returns to the living room, "but I _can_ manage on my own. It's only a sprained ankle."

Harry nods, aware that it is a lot more than just a sprained ankle. He reaches down to kiss Ruth goodbye. "I'm just a phone call away," he says, before he quickly leaves.

As she hears the click of the front door closing, Ruth wonders had she said something to hurt him.

* * *

Monday 19th July – early afternoon:

Beth is on the phone when she feels a change in the atmosphere on the Grid. She and Tariq, Alec and Dimitri have enjoyed working in a Harry-free zone. Harry is mostly a good boss to work under, but he's a perfectionist, and he doesn't suffer fools. Beth's own style is a little more _laissez faire_ than leader directed, and she trusts the team members to know what to do, when and how. Were they to regularly ask her for direction she would regard that as a failure on her part.

Beth ends the call and looks up to see Harry approaching her desk. She puts on her brightest smile, although she wonders whether smiling is the right approach, given Lucas's sudden and horrific death.

"Everything is ticking along here, Harry," she says, hoping he wont ask her for details about Lucas. She notices the vertical lines between his eyes as he grabs a chair and sits beside her desk. "Is Ruth all right?" she asks, suddenly worried about her flatmate.

"Ruth is fine," he replies. "She kicked me out of your flat, stating that she doesn't need me hovering."

"Ruth is quite … independent," Beth says, and she can't help the smile which relaxes her face. "She'll use this time at home to catch up on her reading."

Harry nods, not looking at her – his distracted nod. "Any more on the Russians?"

"Are you referring to the Russian mafia, or to Marat?"

"Both. If we don't find Marat a safe place to stay, then Ruth will never speak to either of us again."

Beth briefly wonders for how long Harry has operated according to Ruth's approval or disapproval. She guesses quite a while. "Earlier this morning Dimitri and Alec took Marat to an Mi6 safe house in Ilford. Tony is staying with him for the first few days."

Harry frowns, while staring at Beth. "Is that really necessary? Surely he'll be safe there."

"He's a Russian-speaking giant of a man, alone in a strange city. He'll need help settling in, until we know what to do with him."

"You're thinking he could be useful?"

Beth nods. "Potentially, although he's a small cog in a rather larger wheel, so it's possible we can do little more than babysit him until either find a use for him, or he decides he'd rather return to Russia."

Harry stares at Beth for several long seconds. "Either way, keep in mind that this man's selfless actions saved the life of a senior member of our staff."

Again Beth nods. Harry has spoken … rather eloquently. "I know how important Ruth is to the section, Harry," she says, and she is saved by her phone ringing. As she answers it, Harry stands, and heads to his office.

* * *

Harry needs to put in a call to one of the section heads at six – Hank Bowden – but first he rings Ruth's mobile. He needs to hear her voice.

"Harry?" she answers, "is everything all right?"

"I just thought I'd tell you about Marat," he says, and then passes on to Ruth what Beth had just told him.

"Actually ..." Ruth says once he pauses, "Beth rang me around twenty minutes ago, and has promised to keep me up to speed about Marat. When I'm again mobile I thought I might visit him."

"Not at his flat, Ruth."

"No, but I can meet him at a cafè somewhere nearby … but only when I'm again ambulatory. I thought he might be a useful contact. He was in the 2008 Russian Olympic squad, so surely he'd … know people."

Harry thinks that Lucas also knew people, but he hadn't been a lot of use to them in the end. "I was thinking the same thing," he lies. He knows that it is likely that those with more sway than him will want Marat Guskov back in Russia as soon as possible. He also knows that it will be his job to resist and then oppose such a move. He sighs heavily into the phone. "How are you otherwise?" he asks.

"I'm fine, Harry. Apart from not being able to walk without pain, I'm just … peachy."

"I'm wondering whether you should be … sleeping alone for the next few nights," he adds.

Ruth's laugh is light. "That's an interesting approach. You're alluding of course to my .. ordeal. How will having you in my bed stop me having nightmares? Your presence may even make the nightmares worse."

He has no answer to that. Ruth is not normally prone to sarcasm, and in his assessment she is holding in a lot of anger. But … what would he know? "I have quite a lot to catch up on here," he says at last, "so … I'll ring you later this evening … to see how you're faring."

He quickly ends the call. His excuse had been just that. Beth has covered for him well, and his workload is no heavier than usual. As much as he wants to see Ruth after work, he will ring her instead. She clearly needs time away from him, perhaps time in which to assess whether she wishes to continue a relationship with him. He sighs heavily, placing his phone back in his jacket pocket. No sooner has he removed his hand from his pocket than his desk phone rings.

"Harry Pearce," he answers gruffly.

"Harry, it's Hank. Hank Bowden."

"I was just about to ring you."

"I take it you know about Lucas North?"

"Yes. It appears to be an execution."

"I just thought I'd let you know that I have several agents following two Russians who are believed to belong to the Russian Mafia. My agents in Moscow will meet them when they land, and … deal with them there. I'm imagining that you'd like Albany returned."

"Not especially, Hank. They were handed a fake, so I don't need it back."

A heavy silence follows. "You're much cleverer than I'd given you credit for, Harry," the section head from Six replies. "So where's the real weapon?"

"I have no idea."

"So … you cooked up a fake."

"One of my technical officers did, yes."

"Respect," Hank says. "I'll … keep you posted."

* * *

Monday 19th July – early evening:

By the time Harry is ready to go home at the end of the working day, three agents from Six have already ambushed and killed the two members of the Russian Mafia as they drove away from a private airfield on the outskirts of Moscow, stealing the laptop which was secreted in a hidden compartment in the bag of one of the Russians. Within forty-five minutes of the ambush Hank Bowden had received the news, and had passed it on to Harry via voice mail. "Two dead, and the precious cargo is in good hands," Hank said in his distinctive drawl.

By the time Harry listens to the voice mail he is home, and about to call Ruth. He smiles. That's one less loose end for him to be tying off.


	9. Chapter 9

Monday 19th July – evening:

"I'm glad I convinced you to come around," Ruth mumbles, nestling her head against Harry's shoulder.

Harry decides against reminding her that he had been the one to suggest he visit her with a takeaway Indian meal, and to keep her company until her bedtime. He's happy to be lying on Ruth's bed, his arm around her shoulders while she lies close to him. She is beneath the duvet, her ankle elevated on a low pillow.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks.

"With you beside me I am," she replies, and he can hear the fatigue in her voice. She had resisted taking pain killers until it was time for bed, the discomfort in her ankle, wrists, and her many cuts and bruises breaking her resolve to remain medication free. "I feel a bit zonked."

"Good," he replies, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

Within a few minutes she is asleep, and so he extricates himself from her, pulls up the duvet to cover her shoulders, places a quick kiss on her forehead, and then heads downstairs, where Beth has decided that a late dinner of sausages and eggs is a good idea.

"Would you like to join me?" she asks.

"Thank you, but no," he says.

"Coffee?"

Harry nods, so Beth leaves her dinner cooking while she makes Harry a cup of coffee, placing it on the counter between them. "Nice," he says, once he takes a sip.

"At least it's better than the swill we have at work," Beth says, her back again to him as she checks the sausages.

Harry has to agree with her. In his opinion the Grid could do with a proper coffee maker. "I've been thinking," he says quietly, his eyes on his coffee mug. When at last he lifts his eyes, Beth has turned around, and he has her undivided attention. "Perhaps Ruth needs to work while she's home."

" _Work_ work?"

"What other kind is there?" he says, wondering whether Beth actually understands the words he speaks.

"There's housework, but neither Ruth nor I like that much. Mostly she's the one who does it. I suspect I'm allergic to it."

Harry nods. "Can you arrange a laptop for her, Beth? And some files – genuine ones, not fake. I think she'll heal quicker if she feels she's still contributing."

He sees Beth's face slowly change as she forms an idea. "What if," she says, "I get her to look further into the Meg Meredith situation?"

"I thought we'd agreed to put that behind us," Harry replies, and then, noticing the smoke rising from the pan on the cooker, "your sausages -"

Beth quickly turns to pick up the spatula, deftly turning the sausages while she continues to talk, her back to Harry. "I thought that if there were something more going on there, Ruth could find it." Sausages saved, she again faces Harry. "Ruth thrives on a challenge, and with the involvement of your former team member -"

"I'm sure that Sam isn't directly involved," Harry says quickly.

"Even if only by association, she's involved, and Ruth told me only this evening how worried she is about her."

That Ruth has confided in Beth is surprising to Harry. He has found Ruth to be wary of getting close to people, and that includes him. He contemplates her words. "Very well," he says at last, "perhaps if you get Tariq to prepare a laptop for her, and if you bring it home tomorrow night."

"Why don't you deliver it to her, Harry? I'm sure she'd rather hear it from you."

If he arrives bearing gifts, then how can she possibly say no? He nods.

"Sure you don't want some sausages, eggs and onions?" Beth asks while plating up for herself.

"Thanks, but it's time I went home," is his definitive reply.

* * *

Tuesday 20th July – evening:

When Harry visits Ruth after work the following day, she is more than pleased that he'd decided to drop by. "Oh, thank God," she'd said when he'd presented her with the laptop, along with a list of tasks designed by Beth.

"Tea or coffee?" Harry asks, on his way through to the kitchen.

"I feel like a green tea."

Harry's grimace of disgust at her choice of beverage is missed by Ruth, who is focused on reading through Beth's suggested list of topics for analysis, beginning with the people in Meg Meredith's `herd of haters' - Beth's words.

By the time Harry returns to the living room with a green tea for Ruth and a coffee for himself, she is still occupied with reviewing her tasks for the next few days. "Her second suggestion is that I look at the information – already gathered by Tariq – on Marat's background. Why do you think that is?"

"I've no idea," Harry replies. "I left her to do this alone, and I don't expect her to report back to me about it." Harry sits on the sofa beside Ruth, placing his coffee cup on the coffee table in front of him. Feeling Ruth's eyes on him, he turns to face her. "What is it?"

"You're delegating," she says, " ... without trying to control the situation."

"Steady on, Ruth. You make me sound like a dictator," to which Ruth lifts one eyebrow eloquently as she sips her green tea. "What?"

"Just saying. Normally you have to know every little detail about everything which is occurring on the Grid."

"I'm learning to … let go," he says quietly. "I'm seeing what it's like to do more administering and less interfering."

"So you have no interest in my findings from … all this," she says, lifting the sheet of A4 paper on which are listed her suggested tasks.

Harry would love to say no, and feign disinterest, but he knows that Ruth would see through his act. "Only when you have something ground breaking," he says coolly. Feeling Ruth's eyes on him, Harry turns towards her. "See? I can delegate, and I do trust you and Beth."

But as Ruth's scrutiny continues, he finds that he has to look away. No other person on earth can see through him the way Ruth does. He is rather desperate to learn their findings, but he can hardly say that.

* * *

Thursday 22nd July – early evening:

Beth Bailey has spent four days as Section Chief, and she's beginning to regret her falling for Harry's flattering words about trusting her with the position. She is sure her abilities do not quite match her ambitions. For a start, she has had to get to work earlier, and leave later, which has cut into her social life. At this rate she'll still be single when she turns forty. Most of all she misses being in the field. She is a field agent, and a good one, and now she's stuck at her desk, she doesn't know why she'd agreed to step into Lucas North's shoes, even if it is only for a few weeks.

So when her mobile phone rings, and she sees Ruth's name on caller display, she is surprised. "Ruth?" she says, hoping her flatmate isn't in any kind of trouble. Harry has been in a JIC meeting since four o'clock, and were he to emerge from the meeting to learn that Ruth is not safe in her flat, then she, Beth, would definitely be the first name on the shit list.

"I've been trying to ring Tariq, but he's not answering."

"He has something on tonight, and he left early."

"Tariq has a _date_?" Ruth asks, like it is the last thing she'd expect.

"I think it's a family thing .. his dad's birthday, or something like that."

"I was doing a deep search on Meg Meredith, and I came across one of those news-as-it-happens sites. `Margaret Meredith, aged fifty-four, CEO of Nexus Media, has been found dead in her back garden.'"

" _Jesus_. What does that mean?"

"I don't even know if it's true, but if it is I need to know," Ruth says soberly. "My friend … Sam … might be in danger."

"Mmm," Beth says distractedly, "I was thinking the same thing."

* * *

Ruth wishes she could ring Harry, asking him to stay the night with her, but he's still in his meeting, and is planning to go straight home once the JIC meeting finishes.

"My mind will be like mashed potato," he'd told her before entering the meeting, "so as much as I want to see you, you won't want me around when I'm in that state."

Ruth thinks it more likely he'll be angry and frustrated after his meeting, and angry and petulant is not her favourite kind of Harry. She also has plans to surprise him by turning up at work the following day, and she can barely wait, but the strange death of Sam's step-mother-in-law bothers her. Throughout the evening she has checked other news sites, but it was when Meredith's death had been covered in a banner running across the bottom of the screen in the eight o'clock TV news that she was prepared to accept it as true.

What did she know that someone may have wanted to silence her? Ruth would rather like to know the answer to that question, although she has an inkling. She suspects that Meg Meredith can name names, all of them occupying positions high in government.

Ruth is about to pick up her phone from the kitchen table to call Harry when it rings. For some reason she is not surprised by the identity of her caller.

"Sam?" she answers warily.

"I need to see you," Sam says quickly, her voice devoid of it's usual lilting humour.

Ruth can't help the surge of fear which begins in her gut and crawls up her body to her throat.


	10. Chapter 10

Thursday 22nd July – 8.12 pm:

There is still almost an hour until sunset as Beth quietly wanders around the back garden of Meg Meredith's house, trying (and succeeding, she believes) to fit in with the other people who are gathered there. Lifting her head, she catches the eye of DS Gerry Williams from the Met, who slowly strolls over to stand by her side. They both stare over the lawn, across which a couple more members of the Met are conferring with a member of Mi6.

"Pity there's nothing to see," Gerry says quietly. "Still, this must have been something big, given you spooks are interested."

"I knew her," Beth snaps. "It has nothing to do with intelligence."

"Pull the other one," Gerry replies, speaking close to Beth's right ear. "Six are here, now Five have turned up. What was she? A secret agent? Did she break cover and talk when she should have remained silent?" When Beth shrugs, he continues, his mouth so close to her ear that she can feel his breath hot on her earlobe. "They're saying that it was a suicide, but to me it looked a lot like a murder."

"What do you mean?"

"Her body was lying in the middle of the lawn, and her arms and legs were bent, forming a shape similar to a swastika." Beth turns to give him her best eye roll. Swastika indeed. "And my boss reckons she died elsewhere." Gerry turns to look at Beth, who is deliberately ignoring him. "Besides, there were bruises on her upper arms. And Six have taken her body, saying `this is one for the Home Office'. I think that speaks volumes."

Beth thinks so too. "So … what's the official story?"

"There isn't one, and there won't be one any time soon. We've been ordered from `higher up'," and Gerry uses air quotes on his last two words, "to pretend it never happened."

"Who is this mysterious `higher up'?"

Gerry shrugs. "The Commissioner, most likely. Maybe she was his lover, and she became too demanding, so he had her silenced."

Beth doubts that, although she believes the bit about Meg having been silenced. She also thinks that Gerry's mysterious `higher up' is someone much higher than the Commissioner of Police. Still, the trip to Meg Meredith's home has given her an excuse to get out of Thames House for a couple of hours, and that has to be a good thing.

"Has my name been mentioned?" Beth asks, trying to sound disinterested in her own question.

"By whom?"

"Anyone at all. By your boss, or Six."

"How should I know?" Gerry replies. "No-one tells me anything. I'm just a DS."

 _And I'm just an Acting Section Chief,_ Beth thinks, _and no-one tells me anything either._ There is nothing more to be found here, so she may as well head home. Ruth might be worried about her.

* * *

Thursday 22nd July – evening:

Harry is beyond being merely tired. He is exhausted. He is also wondering how long he can continue to do what he does, knowing that his style of leadership, along with his moral conscience, is no longer valued by the intelligence service (and perhaps hasn't been for some time), and that this has been noted by the other members of the JIC. He wants to speak to Ruth, but it's almost nine-thirty, and she'll probably already be in bed, so as he enters his house he emits a deep sigh, before heading straight upstairs. Perhaps a shower will lighten his mood.

The shower is cleansing and little more, so he dresses for bed, adding slippers and a dressing gown, before he pads back downstairs for a nightcap. Once he's stretched out in his favourite chair, with a warming whiskey in his hand, and his eyes on his mobile phone, dark and silent on the small table beside him, he wonders whether Ruth would welcome a quick call from him, or perhaps she'll think to call him before she falls asleep. It's not that he _expects_ a call from Ruth, but he'd rather she ring him than he ring her, and so risk waking her.

Then, as if having willed his phone to ring, its ringtone shocks him into sitting up straight. Seeing the name of his caller, Harry smiles. "Ruth," he says warmly, pressing the phone close to his ear.

"Harry, just listen. I have something to tell you. It's not about us, but it could ultimately affect us, and we need to act on this ... tonight."

So he listens, and then quickly ends the call. He then gets up from his chair to unlock the back door which leads directly into his kitchen. Then he makes a series of phone calls, one of which is to Dimitri Levendis, who fortuitously has just arrived home. Each phone call yields results, so now all he has to do is wait.

Needing to keep busy while he waits, he fills the electric kettle and places three mugs on the counter top. Tea for three. He smiles. As critical as the situation may be, he feels uncharacteristically happy.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he, Ruth and Sam are sitting at his kitchen table, a pot of tea between them. Ruth has given him only the briefest of eye contact as she'd limped through the doorway ahead of Sam, which worries him a little, but he'd do well to not focus on this. The reason the two women are in his kitchen late on a Thursday evening is more important than the state of his and Ruth's relationship.

"I suppose you heard about my boss," Sam begins, her voice unnaturally quiet, as though she expects the walls to have ears.

Harry nods. "Ruth told me earlier. Do you have any details?"

"Only what my husband was able to glean from his contacts. It appears that Meg was being followed for over a week, but it was when she met one of your agents that the decision was made to … eliminate her."

Harry nods, but his mind is rushing ahead of him. He knows that Beth met Meg Meredith, although the meeting was not successful, and Beth had left before the other woman had told her anything useful.

"Neither you nor your agent should feel bad about that, Harry," Sam continues, displaying a focus and efficiency lacking in the younger Sam. "It was just the excuse they needed, but she'd been in someone's sights for a while now … ever since she decided to blow her cover."

"Do you know who is behind her death?" Harry asks.

"Not really. I suspect that a paid assassin was hired, by whom is anybody's guess, but I imagine someone in our illustrious government is behind it … although it's just as likely that some of her pals in corporate media were sending out a rather blunt message."

Harry glances at Ruth, noticing the shining in her eyes as her own mind is active also.

"I think she sacrificed herself," Ruth says at last.

"I'm told it was made to look like a suicide," Sam adds, "but it's clear that she died elsewhere. I'm guessing … that her death will be covered up." When Harry has nothing to say, Sam continues. "And I agree with Ruth. I suspect that she gave herself up, hoping she'd be let off the hook, but it seems that no-one gets out alive, which is why ..."

"Sam requires help getting out of Britain," Ruth says quickly. "She accessed Meg's terminal, so ..."

As soon as Ruth had rung him, Harry had seen this particular scenario emerging, and so his phone calls were for the purpose of getting Sam safely out of Britain. He is about to explain what will happen next when he notices his state of dress. Perhaps he should have dressed before Sam's and Ruth's arrival, but it's too late now, and he has to convey the plans which are already in place. He leans forward, his eyes on Sam.

"My senior field agent will be arriving soon," he says, "and he will be driving you to a military airfield which is used by the intelligence services. From there you will be flown to a private airfield just outside Amsterdam, and this plane will then return to London. You will be taken by car to another airfield, from where you will be flown to Florence."

"That's where Brett is."

"Precisely." Harry chances another glance at Ruth, and sees the admiration in her eyes. He briefly wonders whether he pulled out all stops for Sam as a way of impressing Ruth. He really has no clear answer to that question. While he's been arranging her escape, he has been thinking of little other than Sam's safety. "The first plane is due to leave at fifteen minutes past midnight. If all goes according to plan you should be with your husband by seven-thirty in the morning, Florence time."

"I'm rather impressed, Harry," Sam says quietly.

"Why?" he asks. "This is what we do, Sam. We look after our own."

"But … I'm no longer one of your own."

"The intelligence service is like a family. Even once you leave you are still part of it."

"Once a spy, always a spy."

Harry nods. "Something like that."

* * *

Thursday 22nd July – late evening:

Harry had stood back while Ruth and Sam had shared a sad farewell. Dimitri was keen to leave, so Harry shook Dimitri's hand, then submitted to Sam's kissing his cheek. "Who knew you to be a peach?" she'd said, before she disappeared through the back door with Dimitri.

"She wasn't even able to go home to get her things," Ruth says sadly, once they hear Dimitri's car drive off.

"She'll be all right, Ruth," he says quietly, unsure about what will happen next.

"I know, and it's thanks to you." Ruth's eyes are wide as she looks up at him in the half light from the kitchen.

"And to you," he replies. "I notice you're walking without aid," he adds, not sure why stating the obvious is a good idea.

"I'm planning to return to work tomorrow," she says quietly, "so I'm … practising."

"Are you sure you can manage a whole day?" Harry asks.

"No, but I have to begin somewhere. I can't spend my life lazing about on the sofa."

Harry smiles into her eyes, desperately wanting to take her in his arms. He swallows, wondering why he's so nervous around her.

"Harry," Ruth says at last. When he lifts his eyebrows, she continues. "It's already late, so .."

"Yes," he says quickly.

"You don't know what I was about to say."

"I'm hoping you were asking to spend the night with me."

Ruth's nod is the green light he's been waiting for. He reaches for her hand, and leads her upstairs to his bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N:** **Some M-rated bits in this chapter.**_

* * *

Friday 23rd July – early morning:

Harry's internal clock ensures he always wakes just before dawn. Feeling the warmth of another body lying close to his right side, he turns to see the top of Ruth's head, her hair awry as she has snuggled as far under the duvet as she can without suffocating. The night before had been a little uncomfortable for them both, as he had offered her one of his t-shirts to wear to bed over her underwear. They had suffered the awkwardness of a couple who had only ever gone to bed together once, after having been attracted to one another for years. This time they were tired but alert, with neither wishing to raise the subject of sex. For himself, Harry had been afraid that Ruth would consider him desperate, or even worse, predatory were he to have been the one to mention it. So they had retired to bed together, sharing a tender kiss which never tipped into passion, before they'd nestled beneath the covers with only their feet entangled.

Harry is already aroused, and just as he is about to leave the bed, he feels Ruth stir beside him. Her eyes in the morning are like no other eyes he has ever seen. They are at once both translucent and dark, and he feels himself being draw into them, their siren call only for him.

From beneath the covers her hand moves to cover his thigh, and as he turns towards her, her knuckles brush against his track pants, directly over where his erection strains. "Sorry," she says huskily, her eyes widening.

"Don't be," he says, watching her for any sign that she is not wanting the same thing he wants. "Is this all right?" he asks carefully, sliding his fingers beneath her t-shirt to touch the warm, smooth skin of her belly.

Her answer is clear but unspoken. She turns towards him, pressing her hips against his erection, while reaching up to run the tip of her tongue from his throat to his chin. Harry doesn't need a further invitation. As he leans down to kiss her he pushes his fingers inside her knickers, dipping inside her, then retreating, teasing her until she reaches down to push his hand further, until he has two fingers inside her.

They could continue in this way for some time, each exploring the other intimately, but Harry is impatient, so he lifts himself above her, then leans down to whisper words close to her ear. When he pulls away he sees that her beautiful eyes have widened, and the blush on her cheeks is down to more than arousal. "Shall I?" he asks, but she is already reaching around him to pull his track pants over his hips, and down to his knees. In response, he moves down her body to grasp the waistband of her knickers in his teeth, dragging them down until she helps him pull them from her body.

Afterwards he has only a sketchy memory of going down on her, and no memory at all of the moment he'd entered her, desperate for his own completion. They had moved together for what had seemed a long time, but was probably only a few short minutes, and when they came – together – he had dropped his head on the pillow beside her head, gasping for breath.

" _Christ_ ," he'd said, rolling away from Ruth, and he'd remembered nothing more until, waking from a brief post-coital sleep, he is again alone in bed.

Had it all been just a dream, or a case of taking wishful thinking too far? Harry experiences a brief moment of grief, before he recognises the taste of Ruth on his tongue.

It is only once Ruth enters the bedroom from the en suite, a pale blue towel wrapped around her, that he is sure that his fractured memories of making love to her are real. He can still feel her surrounding him, her pulsing muscles drawing him deeper inside her.

"I've called a taxi," she says quietly, quickly dressing in the clothes she'd worn the night before. "I'm returning to work today."

Harry knows better than to argue with her. "If you wait a while I can drive you."

Ruth stops dressing for a moment to gaze across the bed at him. "Perhaps it's a bit too soon for us to be arriving at work together," she says.

Suddenly Harry has the strength to lift himself until his back is leaning against the bed-head. "So … what does this mean, Ruth? Are we not yet … together?"

Ruth is tucking her shirt into the waistband of her skirt, but his question has her stopping mid-tuck, and lifting her eyes to his. "I would have thought that having spent the night sleeping in your bed, then … what we did this morning … makes us very much together. I thought it might be best to not risk traumatising the troops."

"By `the troops' I Imagine you mean Beth, Dimitri, Tariq, and Alec." Harry turns towards her, leaning his weight on one elbow. "What is this really all about, Ruth? To me, being together means being together, and there are no exceptions."

He watches Ruth as she grapples with his statement about being together. He knows that she is private, and would like them to be together in private, but not at work, but he is unsure where the line is between public and private. He is still watching her when she gives the slightest of nods.

"Very well," she says, brushing her palms down the sides of her skirt before she slips on her shoes, "I'll take a taxi home, and … you can pick me up from there."

Harry can't help the smile which relaxes his face. They will be entering the Grid together.

* * *

"Last Saturday night," he begins, having picked up Ruth from her flat, while Beth sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of her, bleary-eyed and barely awake. "I was sure that when I told you I wanted to … take you to bed that you'd … kick me out and lock your door behind me." He waits a very long time for Ruth to answer, by which time they are stopped at a set of traffic lights, protected in the cabin of Harry's Range Rover from the Friday morning mayhem on the roads.

"I would have been mad to do that," she says at last. He glances at her, but she is staring ahead through the windscreen. "Had I … turned you down, I suspect it would have been the end of any possibility for us to be … what we are now."

He has to agree with that. Even he has his limits. "Do you have any regrets?" he asks carefully.

Again Ruth takes a moment to answer, but as she does she reaches out with one hand and rests it at the back of his neck. "I don't regret this," she says quietly, while her fingers stroke the back of his head in a soothing rhythm, "and if I do regret anything, it would have to be that I have taken so long to be here … like this … with you."

He turns briefly to see her watching him, and as he takes his eyes back to the road ahead he smiles. Suddenly life is very good, and even though they still have a very long way to go, he feels a lightness in his body, and is looking forward to whatever future they have together.

* * *

Tariq is the only one to notice as Harry and Ruth slip through the door together, parting as Harry turns to enter his office. His eyes follow Ruth as she heads straight to her desk, noticing that she walks with a slight limp as she favours her good ankle. He is sure that something is different with them, some subtle change which is beyond his senses. Maybe Beth would know, but she is yet to arrive on the Grid.

So … he thinks logically … if Harry had picked up Ruth from her flat, then why hadn't Beth ridden with them? Unless Beth slept elsewhere … or … it was Ruth who had slept elsewhere, perhaps at Harry's house. Relationships between the sexes is one of those areas of life of which Tariq has only minimal understanding. Like … how did Harry know that Ruth was willing to go to bed with him, and when he knew, what did he say to her to get her into bed? Tariq's friends have teased him about his many strikeouts with women. For some reason he fails to understand the signals, and he approaches women who have no interest in him, while the ones who _do_ like him usually give up in disgust, having waited too long for him to notice them. Decryption and deep searches are more his thing, and so much easier to navigate.

So, it is with a similar level of limited understanding that Tariq approaches the team meeting that morning, and the information which he has spent the best part of the night uncovering and untangling. He has little idea how this information will be received.

* * *

Beth is late for work. In her estimation, being late of a Friday is less serious than being late on Wednesday, or Monday. She has no reason for thinking this way; inside her head it sounds quite reasonable. By the time she is taking the lift up to the Grid it is already past eight-thirty, and she knows that Harry will want to discuss the issues of the day with her before the meeting at nine o'clock.

So she's not perfect. So she's a really bad risk as a section chief. So she's unreliable, not a desk spook, an untried quantity. So-the-fuck-what?! _Live with it, Harry,_ she thinks as she reaches the door to the Grid, _I'm human after all,_ _and it wasn't my idea that I be section chief_ _._

"Beth," Harry calls to her as she tries to creep past his office door. Beth is sure the bloody man has superhuman hearing, "can I have a word?"

She steps into Harry's office, her mind grappling with the many variations on the theme of `the dog ate my homework', but all she says when she sits in the chair he indicates is, "sorry I'm late," in a voice reminiscent of her ten-year-old self.

"You're allowed to be late occasionally," he says lightly, and Beth is immediately on full alert. "We all have our bad days."

Bad days, bad nights, bad life. Beth knows all about that. The truth, which she'll not be sharing with anyone other than (maybe) Ruth is that she had dreamed of Anders. The dream had felt so real that she'd believed herself to be there, watching him as his body was lifted from the ground by gunfire, while his flesh was peppered by bullets. Only one had hit him between the eyes, and that was the one which had killed him. She had sat up in bed, tears streaming down her face, sobbing all over again. Would it ever end … the memory of losing him?

 _So yes, Harry, today is one very bad day_ , she thinks. "I slept through my alarm," she says weakly. "I never do that."

Harry is watching her, his hands folded on the desk in front of him. The word which perhaps best describes him is chipper. Harry is never chipper. Of course, she knows why he is happy, and she's glad for him and Ruth, but their happiness is in direct contrast to how she feels on this Friday morning. On mornings such as this, she wishes she had died along with Anders. But she will feel better soon; she always does. She is used to soldiering on.

"I'm not about to ask what the problem is," Harry continues, "but needless to say I require you functioning fully while you're at work."

"Of course," she says, feeling chastised.

"I'm told you visited the home of Meg Meredith," Harry says, still watching her closely.

Beth nods. "I thought I might .. hear something."

"And did you?"

Beth sits back, rubbing her fingertips across her forehead, a gesture which both conveys irritation, and gives her thinking time. "I was just curious," she says. "I thought someone might … spill the beans. " When Harry continues to stare across the table at her, she sighs heavily. "I asked a DS from the Met to call me if he discovers anything, and … he hasn't." She drops her eyes before lifting them again to Harry. "It appeared to me that the police and Mi6 were dealing with it."

Harry nods. "I've been told the same thing. I suspect some kind of plot."

For the first time that day, Beth finds herself smiling. Yes, she is sure there is some kind of plot, and that Five are being kept in the dark. Harry hates being left out of the loop.

* * *

In the meeting room, Ruth sits in her usual seat to the right of Harry, who arrives late with Beth trailing behind him. Beth looks terrible, like she'd spent the whole night drinking or crying .. perhaps both. Ruth knows Beth has a dark history, but her flatmate had shared very little of her past. Beth sits on Harry's left, which is befitting an acting section chief.

Dimitri begins with his report on Marat. "He's settling, but Tony has decided to stay until the end of the weekend."

"Were we to require Tony back here, then that will take priority," Harry says gruffly. "Has there been any chatter from Moscow, Tariq?"

"About Marat?" Harry nods. "Nothing. But … I've done a deeper search around the Meredith woman ..."

Ruth feels the irritation emanating from Harry, and she glares at him. He gives her brief eye contact, and when he interprets her look, he relaxes. "Go on, Tariq," he says.

"We-ell," Tariq begins carefully, "what I discovered was that there's another layer of reality beneath the organisation run by Ms Meredith, and what I found suggests that she was murdered by those in the know."

Again, Ruth feels Harry bristling. "So .. what is this mysterious layer of reality?" Harry asks with a hint of sarcasm.

"We-ell," Tariq says again, apparently oblivious to Harry's impatience, "as well as running her own media business, and overseeing the running of the covert terrorism organisation, Margaret Meredith discovered something very unsavoury going on in her group of businesses, something which she hadn't previously known about." Tariq looks up to see he had the attention of everyone at the table. "Just prior to her contacting Harry, and then her ringing Thames House, she had uncovered something potentially … explosive, but … that's not even the whole story." Again Tariq looks around before he continues. "Margaret Meredith was under deep cover. She was -"

"Mi6," states a quiet voice from across the table, as Beth provides the final piece of the puzzle.


	12. Chapter 12

Friday 23rd July – 9.41 am:

"Tariq, Beth, Ruth, I need you to stay," Harry says abruptly. "The rest of you, please leave."

Dimitri and Alec form `the rest of you', and neither seem bothered by being left out of the loop. Both leave quickly, the door silently swinging closed behind them.

"Now," Harry continues, his hands folded on the table in front of him, his eyes on Beth, "how did you deduce that?"

Beth waits, watching Harry. Does he expect a proper explanation, with names, dates and times? "It was more instinct than anything," she says quietly, looking up to see Ruth's eyes on her, the older woman's face giving nothing away. "When I visited Meg Meredith's house a few days ago, the police were there, along with Six, and no-one else. Why would Six be crawling all over her back yard, allowing no-one inside the house unless they were looking after one of their own?"

Harry nods, but says nothing more. His reticence tells Beth that he agrees with her. In that moment, as she breathes a little easier, Beth wonders how Harry and Ruth ever made it to the bedroom – surmising that they have – if neither of them ever speak.

"There's more," Tariq says quietly, reminding the others that he is the one with the information, "and it's quite … explosive."

Harry has turned to where Tariq waits patiently for his full attention. "Go on, Tariq," he says.

"I spent most of the night on this, and when I found the way into Sandy McAdam's files, it was all there. Everything."

" _Sandy McAdam_? On the night Meg Meredith targeted me, he had asked me to meet him at that same hotel for a drink. Coincidence?"

"I'd say not," Tariq replies. "Sandy McAdam was Ms Meredith's contact at Six -"

"So why did she target me? Why didn't Sandy just come out and tell me what it was she wanted to tell me … whatever that was?"

"I suspect he didn't yet know, and Ms Meredith hadn't told him, but wanted to tell you first."

Beth wants to interject with her ideas, but she remains silent, watching Harry's face as he tries to stay calm. Beth thinks Meg Meredith was too full of her own importance to have been a truly effective spy, and that the sticky end she met was inevitable.

"Why accuse me of … sleeping with her and providing her with fake information? I do have a desk phone."

"It … might be the other information which I uncovered, Harry," Tariq says carefully. "Meg Meredith had only just discovered that the remaining companies who were supplying potential terrorists were also in the business of supplying … children to certain people in high places, like government, the judiciary, business ..."

"You're talking paedophilia," Beth says, suddenly very interested. When Tariq nods, she continues. "So … these people in government – the courts, whatever - who are sanctioning the terrorism, are also the very same ones who are receiving children for … sex." Again Tariq nods, and across the table, Beth sees Ruth sit back in her chair, the air leaving her body. "So, if I'm understanding you correctly, Meg Meredith was killed … probably by a person or persons who work for these scumbags in government, because she discovered what was really going on in her associated companies."

"That's about it," Tariq says.

"And Sandy McAdam either didn't know," Harry adds, "or he chose to leave her there to gain more information."

"She'd been working for Six for eight years," Tariq adds, "and this had been her project for the last five years. She was sacrificed so that the secret remains secret."

"They'll go underground now," Ruth says, her first words since Harry had sent Dimitri and Alec from the room. Harry nods, and Beth sees a knowing look, a silent exchange of information passing between them. "Is there anything we can do?"

Harry takes a while to answer. Beth sees that he is upset by the news, but whether that is the news that certain members in parliament are engaging in paedophilia, or that Sandy McAdam had used him, Beth can't say. "This is Six's call," he says, "and the police. It's possible that the police are part of the problem, but were that to be addressed, there would have to be a Royal Commission." He sighs heavily.

"At least the terrorism scam has been exposed," Tariq says hopefully. "That's something .. isn't it?"

"Until the next bright spark sets up another underground business for nefarious purposes," Harry says sulkily.

Beth remains silent. Not for the first time she wonders whether they are fighting an unwinnable war.

* * *

Friday 23rd July – late afternoon:

For the remainder of the day Ruth had deliberately let Harry be. He'd been upset by Tariq's findings, and he'd shut himself in his office with the blinds closed. She knows better than to disturb him. When she decides that they need to at least talk to one another, she finds Harry out of his office. Glancing across his desk, she sees that his mobile phone is on his desk, and his monitor is still on. Perhaps she is risking his ire by seeking him out, but she believes it is time they talked.

Her first stop is the roof terrace, where she finds Harry standing at the balustrade, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. One glance at his familiar profile tells Ruth that he is unhappy. She quietly approaches him, standing close beside him, but not touching. She waits for him to speak, and she doesn't have long to wait.

"I knew it was you," he says, turning to gaze down at her. His eyes are troubled, and he's pouting, neither of which are a good sign. When she lifts her eyebrows he continues. "I could hear you limping. How's your ankle, by the way?"

"It's fine."

"It doesn't sound fine. I think you came back to work too soon."

"I need to be here, Harry, even if it's only to keep an eye on you."

He sighs, turning back to gaze at the building across the street. "I rang the Home Secretary. He's prepared to see me at six-thirty tonight."

"What will you say to him?"

"I've no idea. I'd like to hand in my resignation, but that might be seen as ..."

"Petulant?"

He turns back to smile into Ruth's eyes. His smile softens his face. "You know me so well, Ruth."

Risking one of their team catching them being too familiar with one another, Ruth slides her hand through his elbow, and he – perhaps unconsciously – pulls his elbow close to his side, effectively trapping her hand. "Come back to mine afterwards," she says, stepping a little closer to him. "I'll have dinner ready."

Again Harry turns to look at her. He nods. "I'd like that, but I might be as late as eight."

"That's fine. I was thinking of making rice with something."

"What if I pick up something on the way to your flat? That way you'll not have to cook."

"Was my cooking that bad?"

Harry frowns. "It's not that. I'm just trying to save you from having to cook of a Friday night. I'd take you out somewhere, but I don't much feel like it."

Ruth nods her understanding. "You shouldn't be cutting yourself off from your team, Harry. You need to open your office blinds."

He sighs one of his whole-of-body sighs. "I know I do."

* * *

Friday 23rd July – 7.39 pm:

Of course Towers is late for his meeting with Harry. The man is never on time. Harry sits in a high-backed chair in Towers' office, waiting for the Home Secretary to arrive from his meeting with dignitaries at one of the embassies. Harry just wants to get the meeting over with. He wants to say his piece, and then leave, although the chances of that happening are not high, given Towers' predilection for conversation.

Harry relaxes in his chair and indulges in daydreaming about Ruth. He can barely believe that they are actually together – a couple. It doesn't seem possible, and yet it's the end of the week, and they're still together. He indulges himself for a moment, closing his eyes to remember them together in bed, their skin hot, their breathing laboured, their bodies humming with satisfaction. He had forgotten how such moments, when words spoken are not needed, can bind a couple together so that no force in the world can tear them apart.

"Harry," says a cheerful voice from the doorway, "who'd have thought the Russians would be so entertaining!"

 _Christ,_ Harry thinks, _the man's timing is even worse than my own._

* * *

By the time the doorbell rings, it is after nine, and so Ruth hurries to open the door to a tired and sullen Harry. Once the door is closed behind him she turns to put her arms around him, and is relieved when, despite the bags of their takeaway meal in his hands, he wraps his arms around her, while they stand quietly in her front hallway, relieved that the day is at last almost over. Beneath her hands Ruth feels his body beginning to relax.

"I have wine," she says at last, slowly drawing herself out of his embrace.

"Good. I could drink a gallon of the stuff."

Being a mild evening, Harry removes his tie and jacket, and rolls up his shirt sleeves before sitting opposite Ruth at her kitchen table over the Chinese takeaway. Ruth is just relieved that Beth had decided to accompany Dimitri, Alec, Tariq and some of the women in admin to the pub for a liquid dinner. With any luck, she'll be sleeping elsewhere.

Harry has been unusually quiet since he'd arrived, and at regular intervals she glances across the table at him to see lines of worry on his forehead while he focuses on his food.

"Is something wrong?" Ruth asks at last. She can't stand it when he's morose and uncommunicative.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," he says after a long silence.

"Did Towers upset you?"

"Not upset, exactly." Harry puts down his fork, and sits back in his chair, lifting his eyes to Ruth. "Firstly, he fobbed me off about the terrorism group, and the probability that children were being procured for a paedophilia ring. He assured me that Six are dealing with the importing of ready made terrorists, and then he declared that the paedophilia situation is something which is too explosive, too delicate at this stage for us, or anyone at all, to be investigating further. He as good as told me to drop it."

"Which means it's true," Ruth says pensively, her shoulders dropping along with her hope that something can be done, and perhaps she can be part of uncovering the whole paedophile ring.

"Without cooperation from him, my hands are tied. I advise him, and he gives his answer, which is definitive."

"But that's not all … is it?" Ruth can read Harry well. She's been watching him for years. He stares across the table at her, and she knows that he's carefully choosing his words. "The best approach is to spit it out," she says.

Harry grabs his glass of wine and takes a healthy swig, before replacing the glass on the table. "There's something I need to tell you."

Ruth is worried. While she and Harry are not big talkers, they are usually open with one another, and to her mind, they are best friends. Best friends can tell each other anything at all … can't they? His reluctance to confide in her about his visit to Towers is causing her anxiety levels to rise to breaking point. "Harry ..." she says at last.

"Towers asked Section D to provide security for a visit by a foreign delegation."

"When?"

"They arrived two days ago. I told him that it's out of the question."

None of this is making sense to Ruth. "Why? Wouldn't this be a soft job? For how long?"

"For as long as it takes for the trade talks to be completed, and then a treaty signed."

"Harry, I don't see the problem."

He lifts his eyes to hers, and what Ruth reads there is pain. He quickly drops his eyes before speaking. To Ruth, that is not a good sign. "Towers has brought … someone to London to conduct … _strategic_ partnership talks with the UK, and he's asked me to … provide security for the Russians -"

" _Russians_!"

Harry lifts his eyes briefly, a small smile on his lips. "Yes, and the US is to be kept in the dark about this."

Ruth sits back, seeing how delicate the situation is, and understanding at last why Harry doesn't wish to be involved. "You told him no because it puts you in a tricky situation with the US."

"I told him no because I once had an affair with the wife of the Russian politician who will hopefully be signing the partnership."

When he looks at Ruth, she is sitting with her mouth open. "Is that … all?" she asks.

Harry shakes his head, and on his face, and in his tired eyes Ruth reads the shame he is attempting to hide from her. She waits, knowing that he will tell her … eventually. "It's such a long story, Ruth, and I have no wish to burden you with it, but … Elena Gavrik's thirty-year-old son is mine."

Well. She hadn't expected that. Not in a million years. Ruth is stunned, but not upset, because what Harry was up to thirty-one years ago is hardly her business. "Are you sure?"

"We were spies together in Berlin. It was a heady time. At the time she declared he was mine, but I always suspected otherwise. We were careful … _I_ was careful. I'm hardly proud of being unfaithful to my wife, but nor was I careless enough to leave a string of illegitimate children across Europe."

Ruth swallows as she absorbs the implications of his word image, and that this Russian woman was not the only woman he'd bedded while still being married. She is aware that the Harry she knows is a far cry from the man he'd been thirty years ago. She also enjoys a challenge, and this … story that Harry has shared with her presents a challenge.

Quite suddenly Ruth gets to her feet and heads into the kitchen nook, where she stands looking through the window. Then just as suddenly she turns around, and walks back to the table where Harry sits, his eyes never leaving her. While she does this she is thinking, and her instinct has her heading in one direction. She turns to face Harry. "Just out of interest," she says, as if experiencing an afterthought, "what is the name of this … illegitimate son of this woman?"

"Sasha. His name is Sasha Gavrik."

"Leave it with me," she says, quickly grabbing her phone and hurrying into the living room, closing the door behind her. She puts in a call, and then waits for it to be answered. "Tariq?" she says, once the call is answered. "I have a job for you."


	13. Chapter 13

Friday 23rd July – 9.53 pm:

Having finished their Chinese meal, and then tidied the kitchen together, Ruth and Harry sit beside one another on the sofa in her living room, each with a fresh glass of wine on the coffee table in front of them. Harry has offered no more details about his liaison with this Gavrik woman, and Ruth is equally keen to avoid the subject, so their conversation is stilted and sporadic, both focusing on the situation surrounding the death of Meg Meredith.

"I wonder why she didn't just ring you," Ruth says after a long pause in conversation.

"Elena?"

"No .. Meg. It would have saved a lot of faffing about, and may also have saved her life."

"I suspect that from the time she accessed my personnel file she had a target on her back."

Again they sit in silence, until Ruth asks the question she'd been dying to ask since she'd learned of the woman's existence. "What will you do if this Elena tries to contact you?"

"Why should she, Ruth?" She feels his eyes on her, and so she turns to look up at him.

"For old time's sake?"

"Towers also told me that the whole family is in London – Elena, her husband, and Sasha, who is now FSB."

"Great. Just what we need … a Russian spy in our midst." Ruth feels Harry reach out to take her hand, so she lets him, squeezing his hand in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture. "Can you tell me about how you met her … and how it all happened?"

Harry waits a long time before answering. Ruth knows she is pushing her luck. "I can, but I don't especially want to be reliving it," he says quietly. "I'm not proud of how I treated her, especially since at the time I believed her son to be mine."

Truth be told, Ruth doesn't especially want to know the gory details about the man she loves and this Russian woman with the son she claims is his. It all sounds terribly tawdry, and as Harry has already pointed out, things were different then, and Harry was a much younger man. She cannot imagine the Harry she knows and loves behaving in such a way, even were the opportunity to again present itself.

But … would he? What if she were married, and despite her marital status she and Harry had still fallen in love? Would their current situation be considered grubby and shoddy? Would she be viewing them in a similar way as she is seeing - and judging - his affair with the very married Elena Gavrik? It's so easy to judge others from afar, and from outside the situation, while from the inside it's almost always a different story, one determined by very powerful and potentially destructive emotions.

"By not retelling the story," he continues, "I'm protecting you, but I'm also protecting myself. I don't much want to be reminded of the kind of person I once was."

"Then let's hope Towers lets you off the hook."

"If he insists Section D take care of the security, then I don't think I should be personally involved."

 _I'll drink to that,_ thinks Ruth, and she squeezes the hand which holds hers.

* * *

Friday 23rd July – 10.37 pm:

"Are you coming back to mine or what?" Dimitri asks, and in that moment Beth realises she has to find herself a boyfriend. Surely if she has a regular man to sleep with, Dimitri will give up on the idea that they are actually together, but hiding it from the others.

"I don't know yet," she replies. "I might get a better offer."

"What's wrong with your flat?" asks Alec, whom Beth has noticed has been drinking squash all evening.

"Ruth is having Harry around for dinner."

"My flat has a spare room you can use whenever you need it," Alec offers quickly, not even raising an eyebrow at the news of Ruth and Harry socialising. Beth considers Alec's offer for a moment too long. "But you need to know my flat is now an alcohol-free zone," he adds.

Beth wrinkles her nose at him. "You are now slightly less attractive than you were five minutes ago," she says.

Alec shrugs his shoulders. "Your choice, Beth. I don't much care."

"I'll pass on your offer. I just might go home after all."

"What about Ruth and Harry?"

"What about them? By the time I get home they'll be in bed."

"Your funeral," says Alec.

"Where's Tariq?" Beth says, suddenly noticing the absence of the technical officer. "I'd promised to buy him a drink."

"He had a call, and went back to work," Dimitri says, downing the last of his drink. "I think it's time I left."

But Beth is still sitting at the table with Alec, who is still drinking squash, and the three admin girls, who are all a little the worse for wear. While wondering what was important enough to take Tariq back to Thames House of a Friday evening, her curiosity gets the better of her.

"I'm off then," she says, and only Alec notices her leaving.

* * *

Friday 23rd July – 11.23 pm:

Tariq hasn't noticed her arrive, so Beth approaches him slowly. "It must be either important or interesting," she says quietly, as she plants herself on a chair beside his work station.

Tariq sighs and stretches his back, before leaning back in his chair. "I suppose you could say it's a bit of both."

"Are you free to share it with me, or is this a private job using Mi5 resources?"

Tariq's dark eyes flicker for a moment before he gives her direct eye contact. "It's both." When Beth continues to watch him, Tariq continues. "It's a request from Ruth, and to fulfil the request I'm having to access files held at the Russian Embassy. Their firewalls are tricky, but not impossible." Beth still watches him, waiting for more. "I'm not at liberty to share with you the nature of the search."

"Right. Have you finished it yet?"

"I'll be around another hour at least, I think, and then I thought I might go home."

"And you can't share this with me?"

Tariq hesitates. "Not … without Ruth's express permission, no."

"Good."

"Good?"

"That was the right answer, Tariq." Beth stands, pushes the chair in, and heads to her own desk. She is satisfied that Tariq has passed the Trust Test, and now she has to at least pretend that she has work to be getting on with.

* * *

Saturday 24th July – early morning:

When Ruth's phone rings she opens her eyes, notices the time, and groans aloud. She intends spending the day at work, but she'd not planned waking this early. Harry had gone home the night before, claiming another night spent with her would be one distraction too many.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself," she'd said, as he'd wandered into the kitchen in search of his jacket and tie.

"It's not _your_ hands I'm worried about," he'd said, smiling down at her.

He'd left quickly, kissing her briefly at the front door before hurrying across the road to his car. Ruth had been disappointed. All she'd been after was another night spent sleeping next to his warmth. She had wondered then was Harry afraid of commitment, and if so, had he admitted as much to himself.

"Tariq," Ruth says, pulling herself up to rest her back against the headboard of her bed, "do you have news for me?" _And do you ever sleep?_ she adds, but to herself.

"I do, and it's a little complicated, which is why I've taken this long to get back to you. Normally accessing a personnel file from a foreign embassy is only a matter of navigating a series of firewalls without leaving a footprint. Fortunately the DNA details were all in English."

"It's a requirement of all embassy personnel, Tariq."

"Yeah, I know. The subject – Sasha Gavrik – cannot be the son of Ilya Gavrik," he says, getting right to the point.

Ruth feels her stomach drop. She hadn't expected that. She had been sure that Harry was not the young man's father. Perhaps she had wanted that outcome too much. "And can you determine his parentage?"

"His mother is his real mother, no doubt about that. I ran his details through a Russian military and intelligence database, not expecting to find anything. After all, there's no guarantee that his biological father is Russian. The-en … I had a hit. It appears that the person most likely to be his father is a member of the Russian military – Colonel Oleg Gorokhov – and this man often travels with the Gavrik family."

"So ... this colonel is in London?"

"It appears so. He's part of the security detail, although I suspect his role is little more than … symbolic."

Ruth breathes out, feeling incredibly happy. "Thank you, Tariq. You can't know how valuable is this information. I'll pass this on to Harry, but perhaps if you email the results to my work station …?"

"Consider it done."

Ruth quickly ends the call, and holds her phone close to her chest. To call Harry now, or to wait until she gets to work? She is saved from having to make that decision when her phone again rings. When she sees the identity of the caller she smiles.

"Harry," she says warmly, "I have news."


	14. Chapter 14

Saturday 24th July – early morning:

Harry has had a hurried shower and cup of strong coffee, and as he's driving to work he finds himself whistling along to a Vivaldi guitar concerto playing on the car radio. He feels unnaturally happy, and he knows why that is. Ruth had cared enough about him – and his reputation, dubious at best – to ask Tariq Masood to do some (quite risky) digging in search of the truth about Sasha Gavrik's parentage. For thirty years he has believed that the young boy he'd left with his mother at Treptower Park in Berlin had carried his own DNA, and that the appearance of the mother, her husband and son in London would perhaps reveal his identity as the young man's father. Well, Elena Gavrik had clearly pulled the wool over his eyes, and for thirty years, too.

Harry's phone rings, and when he answers it, he hears the voice of William Towers.

"Harry," Towers says without preamble, "can you be at my office by seven-thirty? I can provide chocolate croissants and the best coffee in London."

"I'll be there," he says, planting his foot on the accelerator as he runs an amber light. He'd best get this over with.

He reaches Towers' office five minutes ahead of time, and remarkably, the Home Secretary is already sitting at a table beneath the window. "As promised," he says, standing to shake Harry's hand, "breakfast."

"If this is about the Russian talks ..." Harry says, not wanting to discuss it.

"It is, but I've come up with a solution." Towers pours coffee for them both, and hands Harry's cup and saucer to him. "Help yourself to the croissants," he adds. Harry counts six croissants. Neither he nor Towers needs to eat any more than one each. He briefly wonders whether the excess food served in this place is distributed to the homeless of the London streets. He imagines not.

"I gave my answer when last we met," Harry says, before he sips his coffee, which he's pleased to discover is hot and strong - _just the way I like my women,_ he thinks, but decides against sharing that thought. "Besides, were I to be personally involved, it would be difficult to keep that from the Americans, given they have eyes and ears everywhere."

"I agree, which is why I suggest that you put together a team of four agents – not including yourself. They need to be skilled, but not part of your usual team."

 _Whatever does he m_ _e_ _an by that?_ "All my officers are skilled," he says curtly.

"Quite. There's a .. reception tonight, and perhaps you can send two men and two women, and they can attend as couples. Just let me know their names, or the legends they'll be using, and my secretary can arrange their invitations."

It is that easy. Harry had been worried that Towers had been about to give him an ultimatum – do as I say, or face suspension. He feels a weight lift from his shoulders. On his way back to Thames House he has an idea, and he believes it to be one of his better ideas.

* * *

Despite his stopover at the Home Office, Harry is still early arriving on the Grid, with only Beth, Alec and Tariq at their desks. Catching Beth's eye he tips his head in an invitation for her to join him in his office. For someone who is suddenly working much longer hours than she had previously, Beth appears unusually bright and alert.

"I hope you have nothing planned for this evening," he says, getting straight to the point. Seeing Beth's face drop, he shakes his head. "It's not about Ruth and me. There's a reception … tonight … to welcome a group of Russians -" When Harry sees the look of distaste on Beth's face, he stops, and takes a breath. "I need you and Alec to attend as a couple. It's black tie. I also have another couple of experienced field agents I thought I might ask. Alister Dean and Lillian Nixon. They've worked together previously, and both are in their early forties, so could pass as a couple. Even better, both can speak Russian, each having spent time there when they were in their twenties. I need you to speak to Alec, and to Alister and Lillian. You can find their details on our database."

"What if they're … occupied with another job?"

"I imagine they are, but this is an order from the Home Secretary. He .. and I … want to know what this lot are really doing here. There's a partnership to be signed, but both Towers and I suspect there's more to their visit. Ilya Gavrik is a spy-turned-politician."

"Once a spy, always a spy," Beth says quietly, seeing her weekend disappearing before her eyes.

"Precisely. You'll be expected to mingle, and you can work out between the four of you who keeps an eye on whom. I have no idea what goes on in women's rest rooms, but I've been told they're where all the most important information is exchanged." Beth lifts her eyebrows. "That's something my ex-wife once told me."

"Right. And do you want me to tell Alec about this?"

"If you could, and I'm putting you in charge of the operation." And then he hands her images of the four people to whom they should pay the most attention – Ilya Gavrik, Elena Gavrik, Sasha Gavrik, and Colonel Oleg Gorokhov. "Perhaps Alister should be the one to shadow the Colonel. I suspect that Gorokhov holds the key to everything."

* * *

Ruth has only just walked through the door to the Grid when Harry approaches her, directing her into his office. His expression gives nothing away. She knows he is being sensitive to her need to keep their relationship away from work, but his abruptness is disconcerting.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, as she sits in the chair opposite his own.

"No," he replies, "I just wanted to see you."

Ruth's smile is gentle, so that her lips curve ever so slightly. "Well, now you've seen me can I go?"

Harry watches her closely, drinking her in. "I saw Towers this morning, and I've given Beth the job of organising a team of four to attend a reception for the Russian party this evening."

Ruth nods. Involving Beth is a good idea. "And Towers approves of that?"

"It was his idea. I suggested to Beth that they keep a sharp eye on the Colonel."

Ruth nods. "I've been thinking the same thing. Today I was planning to do some digging, to see what I can find on him."

"It's unlikely you'll find very much … not if he's the power behind the throne, so to speak. Information on people like that tends to go missing." He watches her unblinking, and Ruth experiences a _deja vu_ moment from when she'd first joined Section D, and Harry had frequently grilled her for answers to his many questions.

Without warning he breaks eye contact and sits back in his chair, his eyes softer and smiling. "Will you have dinner with me tonight? I thought we could go out somewhere."

"And afterwards?"

His smile widens. "How about we spend the night at mine. I intend coming here for a few hours tomorrow, but only to debrief the four who are working tonight at the reception."

"Can we go somewhere casual?" Ruth asks, not sure that Harry has a casual venue in mind. "I'd be happy with a pub meal. We can walk to The Soldiers' Rest." When Harry wrinkles his nose, she qualifies her request. "The have a dining room, and from the doorway it looked rather nice."

* * *

Saturday July 24th – early evening:

And the dining room in The Soldiers' Rest is rather nice. No clamour of conversation, no odour of alcohol excess, only tables at discreet distances, and a décor (almost) fit for a city restaurant, although the low lighting may be hiding many a flaw.

After returning from the ladies' loos, Ruth asks him, "do you know why is it called The Soldiers' Rest?"

"I've never asked," Harry says, smiling across the table at her, the woman whose mind never rests, always collecting information, collating facts, as she organises the world around her, creating order where none appears to exist.

"Well, I did," she replies, smiling across the table at him, her eyes shining, "and it's a lovely story." She waits, but he is also waiting. He loves it when she comes to him with information she's newly mined. "A couple bought this building from a developer in 1994, and turned it into a pub. Their names were Ashley and Michelle O'Mara. He was a soldier who'd lost both legs in the Gulf War, and he wanted to turn his life around. This is where he chose to rest, and with his wife's help he created this." He nods, smiling, unable to take his eyes from her. "I think that's romantic." Harry does, too, but he can't get the words out. He's too wrapped up in her.

They are only half way through their main course when Ruth's phone rings. Looking at the caller display, she decides that she needs to take the call, and so she quickly leaves the dining room. Harry had expected to be taking regular calls on his phone, with frequent communication from Beth, or even Tariq, who had offered to coordinate communications for the evening, but so far his phone has remained silent.

Ruth returns quickly to the dining room, and she is smiling. "That was Sam Buxton," she says quietly, once she is seated. "She and her husband have left Europe, and they are currently on a stopover to a destination in the southern hemisphere."

"South America?" Harry asks, equally as quietly.

Ruth shakes her head, her smile widening. "New Zealand … but they're taking a circuitous route, and won't arrive in Auckland for a week or so. She told me that in the current world climate, New Zealand is regarded as the safest country in the world."

Harry isn't sure that's true, but it sounds good, and it makes Ruth happy, which is the important thing. "Aren't there a lot of sheep in New Zealand?"

"I've been led to believe sheep are quite ... tame, and I'm sure people live there, also."

He loves it when she teases him. Harry feels incredibly happy … and lucky.

* * *

Ruth and Harry had walked to the pub, so once they finish their meal, they return to Harry's house on foot. As they walk, Ruth slips her hand into Harry's. He glances down at her and smiles, squeezing her hand in his. There have been times in her life when she hasn't felt safe, so she enjoys how secure she feels when she's with him.

It is still light, and cloud cover is trapping the heat from the day close to the ground so that Ruth hadn't needed a jacket or cardigan. _I have my love to keep me warm,_ she thinks, but as they turn down Harry's street, she says, "I can sense a storm brewing."

"Is that observation metaphorical or meteorological?" Harry says, in typical Harry fashion.

"Perhaps it's both."

Neither can possibly have any idea that, as well as storm clouds approaching from the north-west, just a few miles from Harry's house another storm is set to break.


	15. Chapter 15

Saturday July 24th - late evening:

Despite her wish to the contrary, Beth finds herself fascinated by Elena Gavrik. The woman is certainly a smooth operator. To Beth's eyes she is the original Russian Doll - elegant, still, but observant, silent, and cold as marble. Beth wonders if the woman is even human. The Russian woman's posture is ramrod straight, her eyes following her husband with (clearly fake) interest, while occasionally flicking across to catch the startling blue eyes of Oleg Gorokhov, a tall and sturdy, handsome figure in full military dress, hovering protectively in close proximity to the Gavrik couple. Beth can understand Elena's interest in him; after all, what girl can resist a man in uniform? Beth knows all about the furtiveness of forbidden love, and how easily it can make one foolhardy, believing that no power on earth can come between those prepared to risk everything for love.

Beth is not altogether comfortable in evening dress. She'd trawled through her wardrobe in a panic, before remembering that the pale blue dress she'd worn a year earlier for the wedding of Melissa, her best friend from school, was still at her mother's house. So she'd made a flying visit to her mum's, prattling airily about a `work do', and what had followed had been the same conversation she and her mother always had, about Beth needing to find a `nice young man' and settle down. Beth had smiled, said nothing, grabbed her dress and left, resisting the urge to remind her mum that the nice young man with whom her mother had settled down had been a feckless alcoholic who'd left her to bring up two young children on her own.

With a bit more makeup than usual, and her hair pulled up behind her head, she believes she almost looks the part. So far the evening has gone according to plan. She and her team of three agents have agreed to each covertly observe one target, while changing targets each thirty minutes, just in case the Gavriks and Colonel Gorokhov are alert to surveillance, which they are certain to be. They each have communication with each other, and with Tariq Masood at Thames House. Beth believes that the four Russians are likely to be hyper alert, and so she and her team must be doubly discreet in their attention.

A half hour earlier Alister had discovered Gorokhov and Elena Gavrik meeting privately in the garden. He had hidden in the shadows, watching them as they leaned close to one another while talking.

"Can you hear what they're saying?" Beth had asked via comms, while pretending to be deep in conversation with Alec, who played along by leaning close to her, one hand on her waist, a flirtatious smile on his face.

"Sorry, they're too far away. But it's telling that the woman's son is standing watch at the door through which they left."

At the time Beth had been on what she'd privately labelled Ilya Watch, and the man was in conversation with Towers and the Foreign Secretary, all apparently oblivious to the whereabouts of the remainder of the Russian inner circle.

At 10.17 Alister had announced that Gorokhov was headed back into the reception room. "I'm keeping my eye on the woman, so can Number Two watch the Colonel?"

"I have him," Alec's voice came over comms, and it was at that moment that Beth watched as Gorokhov entered the room through the side door, followed by Sasha Gavrik, with Alister close behind. She presumed Alec White to be somewhere behind her, and hopefully not far away.

Some instinct deep within Beth, something left over from her years in Africa kicked in, and she quickly drew away from Alec before lunging towards Ilya Gavrik, pushing him behind the Foreign Secretary, so that he disappeared from the line of sight of Gorokhov, who was quickly weaving between the other guests, his clear blue eyes searching for Ilya.

"Number Two, can you intercept?" she says, and then she feels a sharp pain in her right arm, just above the elbow. She hadn't heard a shot, so chances are she's been stabbed. Then she stumbles and falls, and the last face she sees is that of Oleg Gorokhov, the horror clear in his eyes as he stares at the blood oozing from the wound on her arm. Thankfully, due to Beth's quick actions his knife had missed its intended mark.

After a long period of quiet, the room erupts in a volcanic burst of chaos. Sensing danger from within, women cry out, and men shout, and someone steps - hopefully accidentally – on the hem of Beth's dress. She feels the rip of torn fabric as she struggles to get to her feet. By the time she is standing, she sees Alec and Alister holding down Gorokhov, while several male guests rush to assist Ilya Gavrik to his feet, the Russian having stumbled and fallen when he'd seen Gorokhov bearing down on him.

Beth searches for Lillian, and spots her with Elena Gavrik. Beth has already surmised that the plot to kill Gavrik senior has been hatched by his wife and the Colonel, and had perhaps been more her idea than his. She knows that whether that is the whole truth is not her business, and nor is it the business of her team. They have saved the life of the Russian politician, and that is all that matters. Hopefully, the trade talks can go ahead as planned.

Within a few seconds Lillian is by Beth's side. The older women has already unwound her pale blue silk scarf from around her neck, before tying it tightly around the stab would on Beth's upper arm.

"We'd best leave now," Lillian says calmly, her eyes on her makeshift bandage, which she is having to tighten a little more. "My husband is a doctor. He's used to having to stitch wounds at all hours of the day and night."

"But I have to return to Thames House," Beth replies. _And my dress looks like I've been in a pub fight,_ she adds inside her head.

"Not tonight you won't be. Dale has these wonderful pills which can fell a horse, so it's probably best if you sleep on our couch." Lillian looks up at Beth and smiles. "You'd never believe the people who have slept on that couch; princes, MPs, a high ranking member of the CIA, and even an FSB agent. You need to rest, and you're sure to feel better in the morning."

And that is that.

They are weaving between groups of people, all talking loudly, discussing what they believe has happened.

"That's the woman who tried to kill one of the guests," she hears from behind her.

"No, I think she saved his life," corrects another.

And then Beth hears another voice beside her ear. "You all right?" the voice asks her, and she turns to find herself looking into the clear grey eyes of Alister Dean, who leans down so that his head is close to hers. How had she not noticed him earlier? He is tall, slim and fair, like Anders, but unlike Anders he has a full head of hair.

Beth drops her eyes, just in case he finds her scrutiny unsettling. "Never better," she says.

"You'd best accompany us, Alister," Lillian says matter-of-factly, and neither Beth or Alister are prepared to argue with that. Lillian is not a woman to whom one says no.

Alister stands the other side of Beth, taking her good arm in his. His hand is warm and his grip firm. For the first time since Anders had been killed, Beth feels safe in the presence of a man she barely knows. She silently thanks the Colonel for accidentally knifing her. He will never know the favour he has granted her, especially since he'll no doubt be spending time in a Russian prison.

* * *

They are climbing the stairs to bed, stopping at the first landing for a brief snog, a prelude to what they have silently agreed will happen once they reach the bedroom. Harry's hands have just found their way beneath her shirt when she pulls away from him, glancing towards the front door.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Harry says, his hands still searching for soft skin beneath her shirt, while he leans in for another kiss.

Ruth pulls further from him, so that he has to drop his hands to her hips. Then there is another rumble from outside the house. "That. You must have heard it," she says.

"It's either thunder, or we're being invaded."

"I'm hoping it's thunder."

"So," Harry says teasingly, leaning closer, hoping they'll quickly be returning to the snogging, "you're right about the meteorological storm," he says, his lips only millimetres from hers, "although it appears that all is well for Beth and company."

"And the Russians," Ruth adds.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Ruth's returns her full attention to him, leaning in to him, pressing her lips against his while his hands curve around her buttocks, pulling her against him, his hardness pressing against her belly. Once they reach the bedroom, Ruth bats his hands away, claiming she needs to visit the loo.

"Spoil sport," she hears him murmur as she hurries through the door to the en suite.

Having flushed the toilet, she doesn't hear Harry's phone when it rings, and so when she returns to the bedroom she is surprised to find that he's not already in bed waiting for her.

"Harry?" she says, wandering through the door and down the hallway.

Seeing the light coming from one of the rooms further along the hallway, she rather tentatively enters that room, soon realising that the small room is Harry's home office, and he is sitting in a chair at his desk, his back to her, talking on the phone. She is about to leave him be when some instinct has him turning his chair to see her standing there, half-turning, about to leave the room. He gestures for her to take the chair beside him. "It's Tariq," he says in a half whisper. "Something has happened."

Ruth does as Harry suggests, and she takes the seat beside him, as he continues to converse with Tariq. When he ends the call, he immediately makes another call, which soon becomes apparent is to Beth. From listening to Harry's end of the conversation Ruth soon understands that Beth has been injured.

"Where is she?" Ruth asks, once Harry closes his phone, placing it on the desk in front of him.

"She's spending the night at Lillian Nixon's house." And he continues with an account of the night's events. Once he's finished, he sits back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable questions.

Ruth is flummoxed. "We missed all the fun," is all she says, "but I'm glad we decided to not attend."

"I suppose the reception for the Russians _was_ something of a spy's wet dream," Harry says absently, "although Beth sounded a bit … out of it. She mentioned that Lillian's husband had given her some `magic pills' … for the pain."

"Let's go to bed," Ruth says, standing and reaching for Harry's hand, who stands and takes her hand in his.

Harry is about to turn out the light when his phone rings from where he'd left it on the desk. He turns to her, apology in his eyes. "I'd best take that," he says.

The call is from Lillian Nixon, and only takes a few minutes, but by the time he has also called Alec White, another fifteen minutes have passed, so that when he joins Ruth in bed, she is asleep.

After gently kissing her cheek he nestles beside her, rolling as close to her as he can without waking her. The pattering of rain on the roof calms him, allowing him to enjoy a rare moment of optimism. He knows they have ample time in which to be together. After all, tomorrow is another day. He closes his eyes, trying to remember who was it had said that? Was it Scarlett O'Hara … or John Wayne?


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: This is the final chapter, so thanks to all who have been reading this, and especially to the kindness of the reviewers.**_

 _ **A bit M-ish.**_

* * *

Six weeks later – Sunday 5th September – mid afternoon:

Beth is spending Sunday on the Grid, and as expected, she and Tariq are the only senior staff members present. Alister had left her flat early, claiming he needed to visit his parents. While things are progressing well with Alister, Beth can't help believing that there is a part of him will always be unavailable to her; it is as though he has a whole other life elsewhere about which he never speaks, and into which she will never be invited. Despite that, she is happy to have him in her life, just as she is slowly adjusting to her role as Acting Section Chief.

Beth is aware that her colleagues have been rethinking her role in their lives. Dimitri has told her on more than one occasion that since her promotion she has become autocratic – his word - but what does he expect? Tariq has suggested that she `needs to chill', while Alec has nicknamed her Maggie, after `our esteemed former PM', which Beth finds insulting, and she has told him as much. Then there's the new technical officer, Calum, who insists on calling her Ma'am. She hasn't yet decided what to make of him.

She has come to the conclusion that those in senior positions have earned them, and the resultant alienation from the remainder of the team is only barely balanced by her increase in pay, minuscule at best. She will be relieved when Harry finds another officer who can fill the position of Section Chief, because as much as she has enjoyed the added responsibility, the position is not quite her cup of tea.

She is jolted from her reverie by Tariq standing beside her desk. "Do you know when Harry and Ruth are due back?" he asks.

"You can run anything by me, Tariq. I _am_ qualified."

The young man hesitates, before grabbing a chair from a nearby desk, and planting himself on it. "I found something which I thought might … interest Harry."

"And you thought it wouldn't interest me?"

"It's about that Russian delegation who were here in July."

 _Them_. How can she ever forget that night? She has a lifelong reminder in the form of a vertical scar on her upper arm (which Alister gently kisses at every opportunity.) "Perhaps you can tell me about your findings," Beth says calmly.

So he does. Fifteen minutes later, Beth is sitting back in her chair, drawing all the pieces together in her mind.

"Do you think I should ring Harry and tell him?" Tariq asks hopefully.

"Not now, Tariq, they might be -"

"- having sex?"

"God .. _no_ ," she says, quickly erasing from her mind the image which had popped in uninvited, "I was thinking they might be driving home … about now."

"Oh, right. You're sure?"

"No, but they're due back at work tomorrow, and … what if _I_ ring Harry?"

"Okay," and Tariq gets up, and walks off without returning his chair to its rightful place.

Beth resists an urge to call out to him to return the chair to in its proper place. Maybe power _has_ gone to her head.

* * *

Beth is right. Harry and Ruth are around half way home from their three-day break in the southern Cotswolds, where they'd slept, walked, talked, and made love. Were he being honest, Harry could have done with less of the talking and walking. What had happened in the bedroom had been spectacular – both the sleeping and the lovemaking. Only that morning he had been woken by Ruth's hand moving south from his navel, while she was about to attack one of his nipples with her teeth, and sleeping naked had made everything so much easier, and each other's bodies more accessible. He'd barely been awake as she'd climbed on top of him, sliding her heat until she'd pressed it against his growing erection. With his eyes barely open and his hands on her hips, he'd been happy for Ruth for take control.

They are on the M4, having just bypassed Swindon, when Ruth says something which has Harry almost swerving the car into an adjacent lane. "Say that again?" he says, not looking her way in case she'd said it as a joke.

"I said … why don't we get married?"

"That's what I thought you said." He turns to glance at her to find her large aquamarine eyes turned his way. "Your timing is as terrible as mine."

"At least we're not at a funeral," she says softly.

"We almost were. I nearly ran us into another car."

"What do you think?"

"About your proposal?"

"What else?"

"Of course my answer is yes, but why now?" Again, Harry chances a quick glance at her before he takes his eyes back to the motorway.

"Why not? At least now we know that we're sexually compatible."

"True." He waits while he formulates his next sentence. "Perhaps we should live together for a while before we … go legal."

"Good idea. I'd much rather live with you than with Beth … now that she has Alister staying over."

"Is that the only reason? Because you want to live with someone other than Beth?"

"It's one of them, but not the main one." He can feel her watching him, and he almost squirms. "I love you, and you love me, and neither of us is getting any younger."

"You're a true romantic, Ruth. You've analysed the situation, and then forrmulated a solution."

"But … that's all that marriage is, really."

"A solution?"

"Of course."

"I suppose," he continues, "that the next decision needs to be … how soon can we do this."

But the discussion is sidelined by the sound of the text message tone of Harry's phone. He takes his phone from his pocket and hands it to Ruth. "Can you read it? I'm rather … busy."

So Ruth takes the phone from him and opens the message. "It's from Beth. She says that Tariq has dug up something about the Russians which he believes will interest you, and can you ring her when you get home."

"Just message her back and ask her to send the information to my home email. I have no need to know about this until tomorrow."

So Ruth types the message to Beth on Harry's phone, and then they continue to travel in silence, each trying to imagine what a future together might look like. Try as he might, Harry can't wipe the smile from his face.

* * *

Ruth had been itching all weekend to raise the subject of marriage, but no single moment had felt right. While they'd been out walking had seemed too contrived, and during or after making love would have been unfair, although she'd have been assured of a yes had she popped the question then. She'd been hoping that Harry would again take the plunge and ask her, but she could hardly blame him that he hadn't.

When he'd asked her after Ros's funeral, she had wanted to say yes, but couldn't. She'd been carrying so much guilt over George's death that to join her life with Harry's at that time would have been out of the question. She'd always hoped that he would raise the subject again. Her answer would always have been yes. She is ready to marry him tomorrow, although they'll have to wait a month or so at least.

Harry hadn't even raised the subject of them living together, although over the six or so weeks they've been together, she had spent more nights at Harry's than she had at home. So when they reach the outer limits of London Harry drives straight to his house. There is no discussion about in whose house they will be spending the night. Since Beth has been seeing Alister Dean, it is much easier all round if she spends most of her nights with Harry.

* * *

They had eaten a quick meal of pasta cooked by Harry, and then Ruth had offered to tidy the kitchen while he showered. Ruth then followed him into the shower before dressing for bed, although Harry seemed to have disappeared.

Remembering the text message from Beth, she finds him in his home office, sitting staring at his computer's monitor, reading glasses perched on his nose. He is frowning, and the pout has returned.

"That bad?" she asks, sitting on the chair beside his.

"As things have turned out, no, but nor is it good."

Ruth places her hand on Harry's thigh, and leans a little closer to him. "Which means?"

"Do you want the long or the short answer?"

"Given it's Sunday, the short answer will have to do," Ruth says, lightly squeezing his thigh.

"In a nutshell, the trade talks with Russia were a cover for Gorokhov to get hold of Albany."

Ruth is shocked, but she hides it well, her mind still ticking over, collating the information. "Gorokhov was in league with the Russian mafia?"

"For all we know he may be part of it." Harry turns to her, and she can see the sadness in his eyes. His world is changing, and fast. "My guess is he did it for Elena … as a gift to her. Elena is a fanatic, and she would regard the gift of a genetic weapon very highly."

"Whatever happened to jewelery and perfume?" Ruth muses. "Do you think that Ilya knew about this?"

"I'd say not. The attempt on Ilya's life may have been more to distract us all than to actually kill him. Beth says that the size of knife used would only have killed him had it severed an artery, or been aimed directly into the heart .. that's assuming he has one."

Ruth is still thinking. "So it was little more than elaborate theatre .. disguised as an assassination attempt."

"I'd say so."

"And Elena? Is she still free?"

Harry sighs heavily. "Yes, and she and Ilya are still pretending to be the perfect couple. But there's more." He glances at Ruth, who is still resting her hand on his thigh, the light touch of her fingertips as she brushes them along his inner thigh becoming increasingly distracting. He swallows before speaking. "Sasha Gavrik has been in talks with some members of Six stationed in Moscow. The rumour is that there are negotiations around him becoming a double agent."

Ruth has nothing to say to that. It sounds preposterous, while at the same time, perfectly believable. "That's … ridiculous," she says at last.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's the son of Elena Gavrik and Oleg Gorokhov. How trustworthy would he be?"

"Not at all, I'd say, but money talks." Harry is watching her closely, and he decides that they have spent long enough discussing the Russians. "Were you serious about getting married?"

Ruth pulls away from him a little, although her hand still rests on his leg. "That's some conversation shift," she says, drawing her eyebrows together.

"So .. did you mean it?"

Ruth's face softens as she leans into him, gently cupping his face with one hand. He meets her half way, pressing his lips against hers, drawing her bottom lip between his, before sliding his tongue inside her mouth. Her answering moan as her tongue meets his gives him his answer. Somehow, his hands have found their way inside her dressing gown, his fingertips caressing one breast, while the backs of Ruth's fingers brush lightly against his growing erection, sending a shiver of sweet anticipation through his body. Nothing beats a good snog before bedtime, but given his office chairs are not the most comfortable, he gently pulls them out of the kiss.

"Time for bed," he says, and when Ruth smiles up at him, he knows he has said the right thing. He stands, taking Ruth's hand in his, leading her from the room.

"Tomorrow is another day," she replies leaning close to him as they stroll along the hallway to the bedroom.

"Who was it said that?" he asks, suddenly feeling ridiculously happy.

"Scarlett O'Hara in _Gone With The Wind_."

"Really? I thought it was John Wayne." He smiles down at her. "Tomorrow belongs to those who can hear it coming," he adds quietly.

"That's certainly true," Ruth says quietly. "Who said that?"

"Our own David Bowie."

"Then I suppose you win," Ruth says as they enter Harry's bedroom, or what he now prefers to think of as _their_ bedroom.

"I know I do." In his mind he has won first prize.


End file.
